


Put Your Dreams Away

by JUS_kiddin



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 55,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25588471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JUS_kiddin/pseuds/JUS_kiddin
Summary: Arya Stark is learning as much about her place in this world as much as she’s learning about how to love a woman. Sometimes it’s just as poignant to kill for them as it is to be able to be more than a killer for them.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, Missandei/Arya Stark, Missandei/Arya Stark/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 246
Kudos: 613





	1. We Aren't Kind

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

Arya Stark never felt at home in large crowds consisting of drunken men sharing their battle stories. She didn’t have any of her own to share as a child when it was her wish to be one of them and share her tales over a drink and a meal. That version of her had made war a romantic thing. Now, she kept her stories to herself, increasing the divide that had always existed between her and most people.

Winterfell still stank of death, but it was less strong than it had been days ago when they began dragging bodies out of the castle. That had been rough work that Arya watched from afar growing irritated for nameless reasons. The Hero of Winterfell still stayed away from the likes of people who couldn’t know her, who wouldn’t understand her. They gave their thanks generously unknowing that she didn’t know how to accept it. She was a weapon with a list. 

Joffrey, Cersei, Walder Frey, Meryn Trant, Tywin Lannister, The Red Woman, Beric Dondarion, Thoros Of Myr, Illyan Paine, The Mountain….

Arya was an outcast and she wore it with resigned pride, perhaps that’s why the Naathi advanced on the young wolf fixed on her revenge thoughts. 

“This is just as much for you as it is for them,” said Missandei. “You’re not going to join them?”

Arya shook her head.

Everyone was tired, but they had enough thirst for life to celebrate a victory for the living. Candles flickered and drunken laughter filled the hall. This was Arya’s home, but as familiar as the walls and the cold were she couldn’t reconcile Winterfell as home without the rest of her family. It was harder still with images of the undead littered on the floor and their fallen Soldiers among them. 

“You are allowed,” Missandei pressed again.

“Don’t stand so close Missandei,” said Arya finally. “If I don’t slit your throat people might get the impression that I enjoy idle chit chat.”

She was unphased by the threat and responded. “I know your secret.”

“Which is?” asked Arya interested enough in the older woman’s answer to look at her.

“You’re more than a weapon,” assured Missandei to the young Stark.

When Arya first met Missandei she believed that the older woman chose to see the good in everyone. Through several conversations and watching her interact with Daenarys and Grey Worm she decided she’d been wrong. Missandei had the gift of sight and in her accepting silence she sees people and treats them accordingly. There’s no need for malice. She didn’t partake in any sport, verbal or otherwise that could make anyone perceive her as a threat. 

Arya took too long to say something and Missandei asked, “Would it be so bad if the rest of the world knew you had a heart? Or is it just the one that you’re trying to fool?”

Arya glared and Missandei ducked her head to hide a knowing smirk. 

“Shouldn’t you be attending to the queen?” the assassin answered after a beat. 

Missandei sensed that her teasing could only be tolerated in small doses, as such she left Arya alone. Though the damage had been done and Arya found herself looking for the woman with the white hair. The dragon queen sat with her brother and her closest advisors. She listened to the stories with her expression that seemed plastered on for show rather than true enjoyment. Jon and most of the other warriors were having a wonderful time. Their faces weren’t as interesting to decipher as Daenarys, who seemed to be hiding something.

With eyes only for the dragon queen, Sansa replaced Missandei and for a moment they were two sister’s standing vigil. The redhead studied her younger sister.

“The Hero of Winterfell isn’t drinking?”

“Why is everyone so concerned I’m not flushed in the face and laying on my back howling in celebration?”

“It is the time for these things.”

Arya scoffed. “Then why aren’t you?”

“I am Lady Stark. That title prohibits me from such behavior. Nothing is stopping you and I surely won’t judge you.”

“You’re judgement has never concerned me Sansa and neither has your permission.”

“Very well,” said her sister. The laughter of a red haired giant caught the attention of both sisters. “The woman is impatient. Even after our losses she wants to trek south,” said Sansa who felt confident that she didn’t have to name their white haired guest. “Jon can’t control her.”

“Can the mother of dragons be tamed?” Arya asked thoughtfully.

“To rule so recklessly is insane,” said Sansa.

“Do you expect any dragon to live with a leash?”

“I’m concerned. The North wants it’s independence and she avoids giving me a straight answer. More of our Soldiers will be buried for the sake of her crown and our reward is silence.”

“The North will be free.”

“You sound so sure,” Sansa sipped from the goblet she’d nursed since the celebration started. “Perhaps you should talk with her,” proposed Sansa.

“Me dear sister? You’re the politician in the family.” stated Arya until she landed a curious expression on Sansa. “Unless, you come to me for a different kind of resolution.”

“I’m not asking for that,” Sansa pursed her lips shifting uncomfortably under her sister’s gaze.

“Would it be so bad?” asked Arya. “Who knows how many needless deaths we would have avoided if she never left Winterfell.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sansa scowled.

“I could be serious,” Arya smirked. Little Finger on his knees came to mind.

“I’m not asking, but I am happy to know that neither one of us agree about her.”

“I didn’t say I agree with you, Sansa. I know what needs to be done if it does need to be done.”

“And you’ll do it?”

“If no one else will.”

“I believe you when you say that. You were always an angry child. You scared me then because you were reckless. You scare me now because you’ve channeled all that will and wildness into something that kills Night Kings.”

“It saved us.”

“Yes. Will you ever tell me about everything that happened?” asked Sansa.

“Will you?” asked the younger Stark.

Sansa eyed her sister then the table where Jon and Daenarys feasted.

Arya had her fill of the festivities and excused herself. The hallway carried the voices of the party goers as she distanced herself from the others. She walked going nowhere in particular and the short walk she planned turned into a trek around the castle. She made impromptu rounds while occasionally directing her attention to the sky, expecting to see dragons.

She stayed in the dark for hours staring at the shadow, able to make out the shape of stone and sky. The monsters were gone. She killed their king, their lifeline to this world. She didn’t know how long she’d been walking and glaring at the shadows in case they manifested into the undead. 

The young Stark was still too restless to sleep and thought she’d make good on what she discussed with Sansa earlier. Arya could hear the party goers echoing their thanks for mead, women, and war. She thought again of the child who had wanted more than anything to be just like that and chuckled at the naivety. And maybe some of the girl still existed in the killer as her feet moved in the direction of the dragon queen’s quarters. 

Guards stood outside her door, not that Arya would have used that entrance in the first place. She maneuvered into the woman's quarters through a window using a small ledge. 

The dragon queen was sleeping. The dragon slept so peacefully, not a murderer’s sleep, but one that was restful and assured in her actions leading up to this point. Arya sat on a chest facing the bed. It would be easy to slit her throat. It would be easy to do a lot of things to people that sleep as deeply as the Targaryen. As Arya notes them off in her head she watches the older woman shift and stretch and moan until her violet eyes flutter.

Perhaps she didn’t sleep as soundly as she appeared, Arya thought. She watches the woman blink until her eyes are wide and settled on Arya. 

“Are you here to kill me?” she asked.

Arya didn’t speak. 

Daenerys wrapped her blanket around her as she sat up and leaned on her knees, watching Arya with interest. “Or was there something you wanted to ask me that could not wait until morning?”

“You sailed here with my brother. The way that he looks at you…” Arya chose her words carefully. “He looks ready to do more than kneel for Daenarys Targaryen. Has he?”

“If I had done more than kneel? Aligning myself with your brother in marriage benefits us all.”

“You desire a throne, not a husband.”

“I desire my throne, yes. That path isn’t linear Arya,” said the older woman her voice grew hard. “If you’re not here to kill me or to tell me your desires then I’m afraid I’m far too tired to entertain a philosophical discussion about identity.” 

“I want you to kill for me, like old times.”

“I kill for me. I always have.”

“Isn’t that existence a little lonely lone wolf?” The older woman narrows her violet eyes. “I didn’t get to where I am alone. I can’t do this alone.”

“You play well with others. I don’t.”

“As I recall we played well together once.” 

Arya tilted her head. “You have my brother. You have the North. You have your Army of Unsullied and Dothrahki and you have your dragons.”

“It’s your kind that can make all the difference in the world, Hero of Winterfell. Our interests are aligned are they not? Or have you no interest in claiming Cersei’s head?”

“She’s mine.”

“You claim her like I claim my throne. Are we so different Arya?”

“We are in most ways,” she said. “And in others we are not.” She crossed her arms and glared at the woman.

“We can spend the night tallying our differences,” Daenarys said after a yawn. “Although, I have a feeling we’ll end up worse than when we started and that benefits no one in this room.” Daenerys lay on her pillows again taking over the bed before she propped her head in her hands.

“There are people who believe that you won’t measure up,” Arya stated.

“Your sister?” Daenarys guessed. “Well, there’s a long list of people who didn’t believe in me. They bet their lives on it, which is why they aren’t among the living.”

“Don’t threaten my family.”

“I’m merely sharing the lifespan of the people who doubted me.”

Arya worked on her boots as she said, “Sansa used to be much more trusting. I hated that about her when we were kids.”

“You like her better now, even if she suspects me of being unworthy?”

“Yes,” Arya said as she withdrew her weapons from her hip. She kicked her boots to the side knowing how treacherous they could be in the early mornings with sleep in her eyes. 

“That’s comforting,” Daenarys stated dryly.

“I can kiss and make it better,” Arya shared as she tossed her pants after launching her top. 

Standing naked in front of the older woman was an exciting experience not unlike the few seconds before battle. The uncertainty in a war where there can be only one victor. It’s the uncertainty that causes Arya’s heart to speed up. It’s the uncertainty that makes her stay even though she knows that they aren’t good for each other beyond the moments where they seek each other out.

Her sense of smell increased and became acute. Arya was very aware of the fragrance that was Daenarys Targaryen. As a result the world had gone quiet. She no longer heard the night soundtrack of nocturnal beasts or the warriors from the hall howling their triumphs. All she knew was that smell and she would free the beautiful Targaryen from her blanket to seek out the source.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy.

“You’re special, do you know that?” asked the dragon queen. She lay on Arya’s back.

The young Starks backs muscles contract and expand. Daenarys traces the outline with her finger first following up with light kisses. “I missed you.”

Arya hums before breathing deeply to slow her heartbeat.

“Don’t do that.” The demand was punctuated by a slap on the shoulder. “You’re doing that breathing thing.”

“It’s a necessity to live, your grace.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Men fall over themselves to share the same air you breathe, Yara Greyjoy among them. The power you wield with your beauty is almost as deadly as your dragons. Only a fool would want to give their heart to such a woman.”

“And yet, I’m at the perfect position to take it.”

Arya felt Daenrys smile after sliding her tongue deliberately over the area where her heart would be. “I’m no fool.”

“Would you rather me call you my personal bed warmer?”

“I am not nor will I ever be a personal bed warmer.” Arya rolled over to disrupt their serene position in favor of another. Daenrys redistributed her weight on Arya’s stomach with her finger sliding over her ribs until Arya forced her to look at her. “Say it.”

“You dare command me? You’re just an assassin.”

Daenarys spoke as if the fingers grazing her cheeks couldn’t just as easily collapse on her neck and squeeze. Arya disliked and admired this side of Daenarys. She knew how important it was to her character and how it had saved her from the many threats on her life in the past. She had to smile thinking of the woman she’d met and almost killed in the name of the Many Faced God. 

“Do you mock me?” Daenarys tone hardened in answer to Arya’s smile.

Yes, this was the side of Daenarys that was always hard to stomach, least of all love. The young Stark slid from her position until she was sitting on the edge of the bed stretching her muscles. There would be bruises later if they weren’t forming, it had become an unspoken tradition to mark each other with scratches, bites, etc.

“I didn’t say that I was done with you yet.”

Arya’s stomach tightened. So many times she’d been on the edge of the bed listening to her heart, her body, and her mind. They all screamed for Daenarys for separate and unequal reasons. What was it about this woman? She’d left Essos when she couldn’t figure it out and now this woman was here and Arya had followed her into bed just like before. If there was a lesson to be learned about the last time, obviously she hadn’t learned it.

“Arya?”

“For one who is called the breaker of chains you have a perverse sense of ownership at times.”

“I own no slaves. You come and go as you please or should I say you run and flee as you please.”

Arya met her hard gaze. “Careful, your grace.”

“You’ve been threatening to end my life ever since we met.”

“How many times have your whisperers suggested that you kill me?”

“Countless.”

“Yet, here we are. Defying the odds.”

“Defying your God.”

Arya grimaced. “Point made. Are you going to marry my brother?”  
“Is there a second option?”

“Men will fall head over heels for your hand in marriage, your grace. Who wouldn’t want to align themselves with the great Daenarys Targaryean?”

“You mean besides the brooding assassin that dares leave my bed?”

Arya shook her head. She stood in one move and began sliding on her clothes with a purpose. She didn’t dare eye at her lover. She was spoiled at times. Arya wasn’t in the state of mind to indulge it.

“You’re leaving,” Daenarys started when she grabbed the hem of Arya’s shirt. Her arms were trapped inside and the paler woman used it to her advantage to kiss the brunette.

Arya pulled back after they both came for air. “Good night, Dany.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the Kudos and comments


	3. Chapter 3

Every step Arya takes to distance herself away from Daenarys is necessary to keep a level head. The breaker of chains could liberate a whole city of slaves, ride dragons, and she may very well become the first Targaryean in a long time to rule King’s Landing. She was always a massive pain in Arya’s backside. Her ambition would get her killed one day. They’d had plenty of arguments in Essos circling that topic.

Desire, stubbornness, rage, fear, took turns leading the lovers in a battle of wills that eventually ended with Arya leaving and Daenarys staring after her. Arya remembered her list after being under Daenarys’ umbrella for so long.

Daenarys wanted to fulfill her destiny. Arya wanted….no, she wouldn’t even admit to herself because as soon as she did she gave the dragon queen power. More power would go to an overly inflated ego, but that is to be expected with dragons and an army to prove she was some kind of wonderful. 

She finished buttoning her undershirt. She threw the leather jacket sitting over her arm over her shoulders. She pushed her arms through. Arya winced and pulled up her shirt where Daenarys’ nails dug. Feet shifting on stone caught her attention. Her eyes adjusted to the dark hall and she noticed a set of mismatched eyes studying her.

“It’s a nice night for a stroll. Although I must disagree with your state of undress, you’ll catch a cold.”

“It would feel cold to a southerner,” Arya shot back mischievously. It reminded her of the first few conversations she’d had with the dwarf. He was smart, witty, and aware. They took turns taking their shots at Ser Jorah, who took himself too seriously wearing his old knight ways just as obnoxiously as he wore his heart on his sleeve.

Tyrion nodded letting his silence marinate, but not for long when Arya began walking again.

“I was pleased to see you Arya, truly, even before you saved the world from the Night King.”

“Truly, Tyrion?”

“It has to be said. As Hand, it is my place to say it. Stay away from her, someone’s heart is going to get broken.”

“Daenarys has her heart set on the throne. I don’t have a heart. Are you speaking for my brother?”

“I don’t believe in unnecessary heartache or bloodshed,” Tyrion stated. “If your brother found out the truth between you two…”

“You don’t think if you’d chosen a different way to cope with the ridicule that came with your height you’d rethink that statement?” Arya asked. “I don’t think you would be sitting so high on your pedestal to utter phrases like unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Lady Stark, if you weren’t a force to be reckoned with at the sword, would you?”

Arya might have called him a friend if Tyrion wasn’t a coward. He was still his father’s son using the old man’s ideals to suffocate Daenarys.

Arya shrugged with a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. Tyrion increased the distance between them which inspired the younger woman to chuckle. “You think the Hero of Winterfell would be so bored to amuse herself with a dwarf?”

“I’m a Lannister before anything else,” he studied her. “I know my family...I know what they’ve done. The wolf is on the hunt, Lord Walder Frey and his house are a testament.”

“I don’t hate all Lannisters equally,” Arya answered. “I haven’t thought very hard how I feel about you dwarf, it’s your sister and brother who occupy my mind. Take comfort that harming you hasn’t even become a notion. Lannister, or no, you are more or less innocent.”

“I’ll sleep better knowing that. There is much work to be done to restore the North. Lady Sansa will need all the help she can get or will you be joining us at King's Landing?”

“That’s where your sister is.”

“Right. Revenge is your endgame then? And you take a detour to the queen’s bedroom whenever you wish.”

“Aren’t you trotting to King’s Landing with your own agenda of revenge. You fall from grace in Westeros and come riding on the coattails of the dragon queen as her Hand. You don’t want to throw that in your sister’s face or visit daddy’s grave to catch him up on your rise to power.”

“After I killed my father, I realized that’s all the revenge I had in me. I wish for a humane resolve that doesn’t require more lives. There’s a better way. There’s always a better way.”

“Would you even be considering that if you didn’t have the ear of the dragon queen who has an army and winged beasts behind her? How well were you able to reason with your sister when you were in King’s Landing?”

“The killing has to end somewhere,” said Tyrion.

“You couldn’t convince Cersei to curb her bloodlust so you seek to neuter the dragon queen?”

“Neuter her?”

“She’s the breaker of chains,” growled Arya, her voice echoed in the hall. “The best thing about her is despite everything she’s here. She’s done it without a king and without opening her legs. You want to turn her into someone that makes sense in this world, where houses elevate each other to power through marriage.” Arya closed the distance between them. “Don’t you see Tyrion, that world is dying, help kill it. And if not, then you’re more like your father than you care to admit.”

Late nights drinking with a drunken Tyrion disclosed how much he disliked his father. His ideals were strict and narrow. He was a smart man and if Tyrion had inherited anything from him it was that intelligence. He believed his father’s ego wouldn’t let him destroy something that came from him. Tyrion believed his father latched onto that and let him live. His eyes had gone dark losing their glassy glint. He had sobered in as many seconds as it took for Arya’s words to sink in.

Tyrion was too speechless to stop her. And violet eyes only stared after the annoying assassin trying to calm herself in the privacy of the shadows where she’d stopped when she stumbled upon them.

Arya resumed her journey back to her room. She wouldn’t sleep tonight, not with Tyrion’s words in her head and not with Daenarys bites and scratches so fresh.


	4. Chapter 4

The soldiers were tired. The North was inconsolable. The advisors of Westeros hanging onto Daenerys like a lifeline were whispering the best course of action after their fight with the Night King. It was all unproductive talk. Arya wondered why she even bothered. She usually had nothing to say in these meetings and nothing said was very interesting. Even the view of Daenerys couldn’t redeem what an ultimate waste of time all of it seemed. 

Sansa eyed her as if she could sense her sister’s restlessness. She telegraphed in one look and the tightening of her mouth her expectations of Arya. The younger Stark frowned again wondering why she wasn’t moving South, towards another name on her list. Perhaps it was the same reason she hadn’t pushed the needle through the Mountain’s eye. 

She was getting patient in her old age. In another life she would have taken a horse and rode towards King’s Landing regardless of the consequence of no plan. She was a wild thing. What had changed? From Syrio Forel and his memorable lesson of vicious cats of which she still wore the marks? From Jaqen H’ghar and the Waif and her sour expression that never gave way to a sincere smile until she was trying to kill Arya in earnest? From Daenerys Targaryean, whom she was sent to kill and instead ended up killing for her?

“We’re getting nowhere,” Sansa said to the group quieting their elevated voices. “Cersei’s Army is well rested and waiting for us to charge towards King’s Landing. She’s safe behind her walls.”

“No one is safe from my dragons,” Daenerys corrected her.

“Your grace,” Tyrion began slowly. “The throne shouldn’t come at the expense of innocent lives. To burn them all is to send the wrong message of what kind of leader you are.”

“We can lead our men to the walls. We can overwhelm her by our sheer numbers. We can wait her out,” Jon suggested. His eyes landed on the group and back to Daenerys as it marinated. “There’s no rush.”

“I’ve waited years.”

“Right, what’s a month or two to wait out their stores?” asked Tyrion trying to reason with her.

As much as Tyrion wasn’t her most favorite person, she begrudgingly agreed with him. Daenerys was rushing this. Why? Was it because she was so close to her goal? She could understand that. She often had to force her excitement down to focus on her kill. She stood over Walder Frey sleeping on three different nights before she butchered his sons into a tasty pie.

Patience.

“The wait will demoralize the motivation of my men who have come here for one purpose,” Daenerys said. “That gives Cersei more time to undermine the strategy of patience. I refuse to lose.”

Her voice strengthened. Her chin raised. Arya bit the inside of her lip as her eyes drank in the image of the mother of dragons. 

“We all lose if you sacrifice the bigger picture for something so small as revenge,” Tyrion stated.

“Revenge? Are you calling me small minded, Hand?”

“Never your grace. I only wish that we stay the course with the single minded determination to make a difference.”

“I don’t lose sight of my destiny Tyrion as I hope you don’t lose sight of your place.”

Tyrion’s head bowed. Daenerys used the silence of the group to announce that she was tired and she needed to be left alone to think. No one objected. Chairs dragged on the stone surface as everyone prepared to depart. Arya almost stayed. It wouldn’t be the first time she disobeyed Daenerys’ orders to confirm that the older woman was in good health.

The role of a ruler wasn’t good for anyone’s health. It turned her father into a mad man. It turned Robert Baretheon into a fat whore. It killed her father and that was the short list of people that were victims to their own power.

“Arya,” Sansa called for her.

Her legs moved. Arya turned to meet the top of a white head as it was bowed over a table of maps and figurines. Daenerys looked so small over the war table. She was better suited on the back of Drogon, looking down at them all, being who she was born to be. Her brother was at her elbow. He would stay and console her in a way that Arya couldn’t allow herself, not if she wanted to make either of them weak.

She followed Sansa, nodding when necessary.

Love made people weak. Poets mistook it as a source of strength, but true strength in war was the ability to have a clear head. That made sense to Arya in a way that roses and poetry didn’t. Spilling someone’s blood was more intentional than pressing ink to paper. It was permanent and a constant reminder of loyalty. 

Arya had been weak once. It was in these halls where she was sheltered and given love unabashedly by her family. Love had let her believe that truth would prevail. Love had made her believe her father, who died at a public and unjust joke of a trial.

“Where did you go?” Sansa asked, stopping her sister near a window overlooking the courtyard. Workers rested and ate with dirt under their nails from spending the morning on the castle.

“To father,” Arya said without thinking.

“This would be simpler with him here, his guidance.”

“Would it?”

“Wasn’t it always.”

“We were children, we didn’t know better,” Arya said without malice. “He taught us well and we learned well, but it’s everything else we’ve learned outside of those lessons that take the credit for our survival.”

“He wouldn’t have survived,” said Sansa.

“He didn’t survive, Sansa,” Arya shook her head.  
“You know what I mean.”

The shorter Stark nodded and leaned against the wall listening to the light joking from the men underneath.

“Jon is going to ask Daenerys for her hand.”

Arya schooled her features. “Won’t that be a leg up for the North.”

“He loves her.”

“Daenerys’ beauty makes it easy. It’s hard to pledge oneself to a woman who looks like she’s hit every branch on an ugly tree.”

“Be serious, Arya.”

“Is this the part where you manipulate the situation to the North’s advantage, our freedom?”

“Of course.”

“And if she doesn’t choose Jon?”

“Who else?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s quite presumptuous of us to think that she’ll marry the first Westerosi that bent the knee to her.”

“If not him, then who?”

Arya pursed her lips. “Me.”

“I said be serious. We can’t fight among ourselves, not at a time like this.”

“You don’t seem all that surprised that I would even suggest it,” Arya pushed off the wall to study her sister’s unsurprised face.

“You think I’m blind.”

“I think I’ve underestimated your education in King’s Landing. How long have you known?”  
“Not long. If she has to be betrothed to the North, I’d rather her sink her teeth into Jon. You never handled things quite as delicate as feelings.”

Arya almost barked. “You don’t think I can handle the queen?”

“Arya, you couldn’t romance a stone. I don’t know the details of Essos, I just know it ended badly. You’ll have what’s left of our Kingdom burned down after you’ve finished your supposed courtship.”

“Is there a wager in this challenge?”

“I issued no challenge,” said an exasperated Sansa.

“And yet I heard one,” Arya countered. “Since you and Tyrion and the rest of Westeros need to marry her off, it might as well be me for Daenerys’ sake.”


	5. Chapter 5

Children play in the snow. Despite the war and the bloodshed they still have the energy to play in the snow. They laugh as if the smell of death didn’t hover in the air. Perhaps, the smell is gone for others and it’s just Arya imagining it all. She’d been around death plenty to know the scent.

Year before that may have been her. No, she would have been behind the walls trying to get as close to the war table as possible. She would have secured a hiding spot and listened to the new first hand. Snow ball fights in a time of war could only be appreciated by people with simple interests. Arya’s interest, for as far back as she can remember, revolved around fighting.

She doesn’t think she is. She stomps through the snow towards the tomb. It’s quiet there and in these recent days no one has visited the dead. The days of war are still on the horizon and while children play, the adults don’t fool themselves into thinking that this peace can last. Daenerys was restless and Jon was trying to soothe the dragon. Perhaps that’s where she went wrong with Daenerys. Arya was too accepting of all of Daenerys, to the point where she didn’t want to reign her in with the same rules that told her it wasn’t proper for her to learn the sword.  
Rules, the girl grimaced picturing a younger and wilder version of herself with so much unchanneled energy. She burned the proverbial blueprint of a proper daughter each time she shot an arrow or wrestled with her brothers. She pictured a younger and shyer Dany under her brother's thumb. The environment had to be incredibly stifling. Of course, she turned out the way she was now if she spent a good portion of her life listening to the nonsensical ravings of a lunatic. Dany had told her a handful of stories about her brother only to point out the differences between them. Arya heard the disgust in Dany's voice. Any other emotion, if it had ever existed, disappeared like steam rising.

Her family's short sightedness never concerned Arya enough to listen, not when something much stronger was guiding her. She understood that pull better than anyone. She celebrated it in herself and in Daenerys by default. She gave Daenerys the only gift that she could, the only gift that she could see the queen desired more than her throne, acceptance.

It seemed to be colder in the tomb as the sun was gone. Once inside, Arya turned the corner, surprised to see violet eyes glare from long black lashes. Neither woman spoke as they held each other's gaze. Arya walked and stopped in front of her mother’s tomb. She turned to it and breaking the silent connection between her and the dragon queen. To Daenerys it seemed as if she’d been forgotten. To Arya she was very aware of the sounds and smells coming from the older woman.

“It must have been nice to grow up with a family. I had to forge mine, as the legacy of the Targayen’s nipped at my heels. Drogo, Missandei, Grey Worm, Ser Jorah…” Daenerys listed before she mentioned Arya’s name.

“My brother?”

Daenerys pressed her fingers to her temple. “I don’t want to fight.”

“The queen wants what the queen gets,” Arya said as she exhaled.

“I’m not in the mood for your mood, Arya.”

“I mean it,” the brunette softened her words. She took several deliberate steps towards Daenerys. “Whatever you want, you shall have.”

“The truth?”

“Aye,” Arya braced herself for the plethora of truths Daenerys would ask for. 

“Cersei, do you think a dragon can reason with her?”

Arya almost laughed at the image of Drogon and Cersei in the Red Keep. The world was burning around Drogon and Cersei. She was drenched in sweat, more willing to burn than admit that there was a queen more capable of ruling.

“No,” she said at the end of her amusement.

“My Hand, is wrong?” asked Daenerys.

“Your Hand is the sister of your enemy. Tyrion is a good man in a bad position. His motivations might not be in line with the interests of your crown.”

“What of your motivations? Am I to believe that you tripped, fell through my window and into my bed last night?”

Arya’s right brow rises. “I would not have been in your bed if that was not what I wished. You would not have accepted me into your bed if that was not what you wished.”

“Jon tells me everything. I know I am his everything, he bent the knee.”

“Is that why you prefer him over me?”

Daenerys shook her head. “He tells me how he feels. You fuck me and shut me out.”

Essos had been their beginning. It was too hot. Arya burned easily. The smells were suffocating when matched with the burning sun. Arya hated sand, but she was fond of her time with the dragon queen. Those days were getting further and further away it seemed as there was something growing inside of Daenerys, a darkness. 

“I’m leaving in the morning,” Arya said.

“Running,” Daenerys scoffed.

“I travel South, because you’re right. While we wait Cersei grows stronger and more dangerous. Sansa’s right. The men are tired and the North needs to be rebuilt. Tyrion is right. There is always a better way.”

“You seek to please us all,” Daenerys observed.

“I seek to please only one.”

“You’re going to scratch another name from your list,” Daenerys pulled her furs closer to her chin.

“When I kill Cersei and win you the throne. You’ll get everything you want.”

“And you’ll be the one giving it to me. The crown will be forever grateful. Will you stick around long enough for the crown to thank you?”

“I have no interest in land or coin or titles if that is all the crown is offering, your grace.”

“Those rewards are offered to people who have actually bent the knee, princess.”

Arya chuckled to herself. “For every man and woman that bend the knee to the great Daenerys Targaryen, they’ve secured their status as people who will never be your equal.”

“I have no equal.”

“You do,” Arya said meaningfully.

“You forget yourself.”

“I’m afflicted by a disease of never forgetting,” Arya closed in. Her hands reached up to a soft cheek as she pressed her face to Daenerys’. She whispered, “I remember everything. I became an assassin for the same reason you became a queen. I lay in your bed and held you and you let me, because what we have keeps us warmer than titles ever could.”

“Don’t.”

“You know this.”

“I’m...your brother…”

“I love him. I’ll always love him even if he hates me for what I plan to do,” Arya pulled away.

Daenerys pinned her with suspicion. “You mean leave to kill Cersei?”

“I mean to fight for you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Arya feared she’d become as dumb as a poet when she offered Daenerys the world. She didn’t have the skill for it, of course. That didn’t stop her from making promises like a dumb poet.

“I might as well have offered her the moon and stars, while I was at it,” she growled to herself atop her horse. 

Put her in a castle full of whitewalker, put her in the middle of a crowd of Dothrahki warriors, put her in the heart of the Lion’s den, and she trusts herself more than declaring her feelings. Daenerys was a dangerous woman, she didn’t know how much until she met the dragon queen for the first time.

“Are you going to let me in on the conversation or do you wish that I eavesdrop on it so I don’t feel excluded?” asked Missandei on the nearby steed. Missandei leaned back to observe the young Stark.

“If you don’t mind I’m having a very intimate conversation with myself.”

“Perhaps I can weigh in on the debate,” Missandei offered.

“Just because you’ve been the counsel to the queen doesn’t mean that you’re equipped to deal with the machination of an assassin’s psyche.”

“So many big words Arya. I hear you can manage sweet ones as well.”

“She told you.”

“Daenerys tells me everything.”

“Who will she bare her soul to now that her most trusted advisor is on an adventure with me?”

Arya wanted to visit the smith before her journey South. Missandei chose to tag along while Daenerys and Sansa spoke about the North’s affairs. Arya would hear her sister’s version of the story later. 

Missandie told her, “Play nice.”

“Make me.”

Gendry wasn’t there. She was half disappointed not to see him. She would have liked to speak with him, for old times sake. Still, what she needed didn’t rely on his skills alone and she spoke to the nearest smith about a particular order she’d placed right after the battle. She paid half to begin the work and she had the second payment in hand on the day the senior smith, a graying giant delivered her order, wrapped neatly in red leather.

Arya spotted Missandei examining a red scarf on her way to their horses. She stuck by the stables and waited and pulled out the dagger she’d just commissioned. Arya stretched to work out the cold muscles by going through drills. She memorized them during her time with Syrio and took comfort in the dance her former mentor hammered into her muscles.

She thought of the tightening and loosening of her muscles. She concentrated on her breathing. She focused on the sounds of the horses nearby. The townsfolk are undisturbed in their daily chores, carrying on conversations they’ve probably had a hundred times before. Perhaps a thousand times before.

In the quiet moment where the heads of her family aren’t traipsing around in her dreams on pikes, she can think clearly. The edges of her vision on stained red. Her mind isn’t buzzing with rage nor fuzzy from wandering into a state where she became no one again. She hadn’t realized how far gone she was until she traveled to Mereen. She hadn’t been Arya Stark for a long time and Daenerys was sitting on the throne with a line full of enemies. 

She had been given the name. She had pursued the name. Arya watched and waited in spirit of her lessons from recent and long ago. Acting rashly, that had never rewarded her in her late master’s lessons. It never rewarded her either as a cupbearer for Tywin Lannister. That had been so long ago. The fear and how it didn’t exist as this suffocating and all encompassing vortex where she couldn’t think or act.

A young Arya had taken on to the role of survivor quite well. The bodies left behind were proof of her determination to deliver judgment on those who would be judged by the crimes against her loved ones. She ducked and lunged and twisted and turned sinking deeper into the dance as sweat collected on her upper lip. Arya can ignore it all. She is her own universe propelling towards the dark. However, she’s not as deep as thought. She feels eyes burning into her. 

“I thought you were shopping,” said Arya.

“I shopped,” started Missandei eying the hand holding Arya’s beloved Needle. “Shall we start where we left off?” Missandei tilted her head.

Arya opened her eyes and turned to the curly haired woman.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Missandei.

“Are you here to prove her paranoia is correct, that I’m not worthy?”

“The only one who appears paranoid is you,” Missandei advanced. She swung on Arya with a blade she’d hidden in the sleeve of her coat. 

Arya grinned proudly. “Good.” Missandei swung again and Arya caught her hand this time. She pulled the woman closer. “Ever since you gained your freedom you’ve tethered yourself to her for better or worse. Why are you here with me if not to spy on me...if not to validate or invalidate your queen’s suspicions?”

Missandei tried to free herself from Arya’s hold. Just as Missandei began struggling in earnest the Northerner released her. She landed on her backside in the snow glaring at a smug Arya Stark.

“You would think to be nicer to the woman who holds some weight in the queen’s decision making.

Arya shook her head looking down on the woman. “I see our hard work from our time together has gone to waste.” Missandei rose again as Arya continued to taunt her. “You remind me of when I first met you. You never asked Grey Worm to continue where I left off?”

“It’s not the same.”

They cared for each other, deeply. If Missandei asked Grey Worm would have eagerly taught her, except, there were certain requirements she didn’t think Grey Worm could stomach. In Mereen, Missandei and Arya sparred in the evening, alone, for a month then. Missandei wanted to learn to defend herself. Her earlier years were her most vulnerable. She carried it with her like an anchor hiding underneath this false layer that existed for the sake of self preservation. 

Missandei had chosen the dagger, doubting that she would ever need to learn the sword. The dagger was an intimate weapon. Missandei had been beautiful all her life. Beauty came with the expectations of men, who sought to claim what was hers for themselves. Arya didn’t ask. Missandei didn’t share. Although, she had been specific about the nature of their training. Arya’s holds were invasive, Missandei had requested it. 

Arya moved her hands over her. Missandei threw her head back connecting with Arya’s face. Her elbow came down on a shoulder shoving the assassin to her knee. The Northerner caught herself before she landed on the ground and rolled out of reach.

“You’re not a lost cause after all,” Arya smiled in triumph while her shoulder throbbed. 

“Get up and let's eat,” she reached for the woman’s hand to help her up.

Missandei accepted the hand and she was on her feet in minutes. They matched strides heading back to the Inn, this time both women were quiet. Missandei was working up to something, Arya could tell. The thought of being subjected to an inquisition darkened her mood.

They chose a far corner with their backs to the wall and a clear view of the entrance. Dinner time was a quiet affair. Arya surveyed the room. There seemed to be more regulars than travelers. Missandei ordered for them. Arya didn’t much care for the woman’s unnecessary effort to make sure she was fed. 

A group of clean shaven men sat against a wall. They wiped away crumbs, pork flesh, and mustaches of ale with the back of their hands. There was nothing particularly alarming about them, but Arya ended up contemplating what bothered her so much about the group. They spoke softly and kept to themselves. Perhaps it was their calmness that bothered her.


	7. Chapter 7

“Who sent you?” asked Arya Stark.

Silence.

Arya strongly disliked repeating herself.

The soldier refused to speak when she asked again. There was something to be said about the character of a man kneeling in the snow, surrounded by the bodies of his comrades, with the young wolf looking down on him. The storytellers would call him brave. Arya considered him an idiot. It was obvious he was from the South, his skin was too sunbathed to be a native of the North.

His fallen comrades shared the same tan. It was the second thing that Arya noticed about them when she spotted them sitting quietly in the tavern. Everyone else had been too self absorbed in the meals and their mead to notice. Arya on the other hand, was trained to notice the oddities in a crowd. It usually meant the difference between life and death.

She and Missandei followed the group to their horses where the final and fourth man was tending to the horses. They brought him back food. He was the first to go down as he focused on his meat. The fight was short as Arya had the advantage of surprise. The last man standing, had actually been struggling to run when she caught up with him.

Green eyes studied her bloodstained face. He swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down Arya pulled out her knife and pressed it to his throat. “I won’t ask again.”

Silence.

Arya added pressure to the knife hand. She felt his skin on his neck giving way to her blade. He grit his teeth.

“No one will kneel to that dragon bitch. No one,” he growled.

Arya pursed her lips. In the next second before Missandei could ask the same question a different way, the brunette slit his throat. He choked and took several futile gasps for air as he fell back. The puddle of red soaked the snow growing larger and staining Arya’s boots as she crouched over him, watching the light in his eyes disappear.

“We could have asked him more questions.”

“Aye.” Arya stood and turned towards Missandei. “We know who sent him. We know why. We delay the inevitable when we ask questions we already know the answers to.”

“Cersei.”

“We must tell Daenerys.”

“No.”

Missandei frowned as Arya circled the bodies to make sure they were dead.

“There could be more. We only put her life in danger if we hide this from her.”

Arya shook her head. “She finds out she’ll be even less reasonable about this war. Things will be said that can’t be unsaid. Things will be done that can’t be undone. The alliance with the North is more important than Daenerys driving everyone South because someone threatened her life. She’s always taken that kind of thing too personally.”

“Does her life mean so little to you?”

“This is war and her reign threatens what passes for order in Westeros. There will always be someone trying to take her life. It’s always been the Targaryen they fear and it’s always going to be the Targaryen they want to kill. Dany isn’t her name, no matter how hard she’s holding on to that.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Come now Missandei,” her brow hiked.

“I can’t lie to her,” she said as she swallowed in understanding what Arya intended. “I won’t lie to Daenerys,” the Naathi said.

“Do you trust that she’ll look at the objectively? Every threat to her life has been answered with fire. She needs to be seen as a leader who can respond to threats with more than the wrath of the dragon. They’ll call her a tyrant.”

“If she doesn’t answer, her enemies will think she is weak.”

“They won’t, not after I’m through with them.”

“What is the difference from her burning King’s Landing and your bathing it in blood?”

“Control,” Arya answered. “You see her. This has been a non-stop campaign and she’s barely had time to properly mourn or regroup. She is burning out and she won’t relent because she’s too damn stubborn.”

Arya studied the Naathi. She knew this to be true. Silence was just as much of a betrayal in her eyes as if she’d ordered the assassins herself. Missandei would be compelled by the nature of her kind heart to tell Daenerys about the soldiers sent by Cersei.

“We should head back,” Missandei said ready to take the lead.

Dismissing the reason in Arya’s statement was her first mistake. Turning her back on the woman was her second. She never saw the blow coming. She landed face first in the snow losing consciousness.

It was probably best that she didn’t witness the mess Arya had to make as she collected the face of the fallen men. There was no need to go back to the castle. The horses were well stocked and rested. Now it was just a matter of throwing Missandei on one of the horses and leaving the right message that would dissuade the dragon queen from pursuing them.

*

No one wants to be wrong. There was too much at stake. Lives and reputations and legacies always have to be upheld. It’s hardest in a time of war when all are equally threatened by the cut of a sword of a sharp tongue. 

Sansa saw the vacant stares of her people are hurt, hungry, and wanted more from her than she could ever humanly give. The disproportionate relationship was a weight. She didn’t like to compare herself to Daenerys Targaryen, but she could see the similarities in their methodology of ruling. They want what is best for their people as all great leaders do. However, there has to be a part of oneself that accepts they are wrong.

Sansa spent the bulk of her youth being wrong. She was too naive to see the devils until she’d backed herself in a corner of shallow desires. The smart woman could never be, if not for the stupid girl who imagined herself a Joffrey’s queen. It had all begun because of a dream and glided effortlessly into a nightmare much like this new hell barging into Jon’s chambers.

“Is this how serious you Starks are about winning this war?” growled Daenerys. 

Jon blinked. 

Sansa watched the pacing queen in Jon’s chambers where the impromptu meeting had begun. Sansa and Jon were discussing plans for Winterfell when Daenerys burst through the doors. Her guards were on her heel as well as a disgruntled Tyrion who looked to have rolled out of bed for his occasion. 

Arya, Sansa thought as her stomach sank before Daenerys even spoke.

“Daenerys, you have the North’s allegiance.”

“You have knelt, Jon Snow,” she stopped pacing. “What good is it if you can’t keep your sister in line?”

“Our parents tried and failed to tame her. I doubt my brother kneeling will make any impact on her decisions,” Sansa defended. “Whatever she’s done it’s in the best interest of the North and by default in your best interest, as well.”

“You seem to understand her better than me. This is why I come late at night, for some understanding.”

“Your grace…” Tyrion started. “I’m sure that there is a perfect explanation for this.”

“For what?” Jon asked.

“Arya is gone,” Tyrion answered. “We received a letter from your sister. She is going to King’s Landing to secure the throne with as little bloodshed as possible.”

Sansa frowned. She didn’t like the idea of Arya going off on her own or leaving without a word. Still, that wasn’t enough of a reason for Daenerys to attack them so late.

“I doubt she would have left word with anyone had she gone alone,” Tyrion continued. “Is there a reason why your sister would take Missandei with her? A woman who has little to no combat skills.”

Jon was preparing to answer. Sansa could hear the confusion and worry in his voice before he even uttered an apologetic word. If he wasn’t brooding he was apologizing over something. Daenerys wouldn’t listen to either. She felt Tyrion’s gaze on her and used that to her advantage as she gasped.

“Is there something you care to share with us Lady Sansa?” he asked.

Sansa felt all eyes on her now. She chose her words carefully. Her actions were deliberate as she sagged her shoulders and shook her head as if admonishing Arya’s actions.

“My sister told me of her plans to kill Cersei. We all know how skilled and determined she is and there was no convincing her otherwise. I fear this might all be my fault.”

Tyrion stepped toward her. “How?”

“I told her it wouldn’t be easy to get to Cersei. She would be heavily guarded. From our time there, she knows the Red Keep very well. I told her it was still too dangerous. As I said, my sister is determined. What better way to get near the queen if she had something of value? Something that would drop Cersei’s guard long enough to strike the fatal blow?”

“Are you suggesting she took Missandei to bargain with Cersei?” asked Daenerys.  
“If someone we cared about had the misfortune of being captured by Cersei, she would exploit it without hesitation. She’s emotionally manipulative. I reminded Arya of her preferred methods of dealing with people, I can only assume that my sister convinced Missandei to aid her. Would it be so far-fetched that Missandei risks her life for her queen?”

The small group let the information marinate in silence. This wasn’t what Daenerys wanted to hear, but it was better than an apology. It was a strategy and from the little she gathered about Arya and Daenerys’ relationship in Mereen, she trusted Arya even with one of her favorite people.

“If anything happens to Missandei…” Daenerys trailed off glaring at Jon.

“We all know that the Hero of Winterfell is capable. We shouldn’t waste this opportunity on fighting amongst ourselves,” Sansa suggested.


	8. Chapter 8

Furious footsteps gobbled the distance between Jon’s chambers and Daenerys’.

Earlier, Daenerys didn’t know what she would find when she sought out Jon with Tyrion and her guards. Perhaps, she’d gone to Jon for his sympathetic ear. He would see reason and volunteer to coordinate the search for his sister and Missandei. Just as she thought he was about to validate her assumptions about his reaction, Sansa stepped in. She worked the room and she expected no less from a woman who was inadvertently mentored by Cersei Lannister.

While she could have demanded a search party retrieve the two women, she didn’t. Again, Sansa weaved Arya’s plan as a blessing for the weary fighters.

“It would help if I understand the source of your discontent,” Jon stood by the entrance of Daenerys’ temporary chambers seconds after she stormed inside.

“Your sister is….” Daenerys swallowed the next word. “I fear that her actions might do more harm than good.”

“We’ve spent so much time apart, but we’re not strangers. Arya is trying to do her part, for the good of us all.”

“This requires Missandei?”

“Missandei left willingly.”

“And she left without saying anything to me,” Daenerys held herself by the fire. The flames licked at the air as her eyes went hard with worry. “She would have said goodbye. She neglected to share her plan with Grey Worm, too.”

“Would she?” Jon shook his head. “Would you have listened? Would you have given your blessing? Would he?”

“I don’t own her. She can do anything she would like with her freedom. As a...as someone who cares for her I would have rather heard it from her.”

“We planned to stay in the North and regroup, anyway,” Jon tried to console her. 

His footsteps thundered compared to the crackling fire and Daenerys' heavy breathing. His hands came next. They landed on her hips coaxing her back into his arms. He smelled of metal and conviction.

“Is it so strange that you and your younger sister smell similar?”

Daenerys felt Jon inhale deeply, his muscles tightened around her smaller body. “You’ve spent enough time around Arya to observe that?”

“I’m in a country full of strangers,” she left his arms and turned to him. “I observe and I listen.”

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear, for you to trust me. If I knew it I would say it,” he reached for her again. His hand ended up on her cheek.

Daenerys considered Jon’s declaration. He meant it, that much she could see. His dark eyes trying to rip through her soul and find a place there where he could brood safely. He wanted someone to save him almost as much as he needed to be the one who saved them all. She should have felt elated to have this man love her. She loved him. But the affection between them was all so small compared to the shadow of what Arya offered.

She would challenge Daenerys as well as demand that she be the only thing she was meant to be, a dragon. Still, her taking Missandei bothered her. Of all the soldiers she could have recruited or the other would be hostages she could bargain with...why Missandei?

She was truly concerned for the Naathi. Buried underneath that concern, buried somewhere dark and mossy was suspicion. The curly haired woman was exotic to a Northerner accustomed to pale beauties and the warmer ladies from the South. Missandei was different and representative of a world long denied to Arya, who wanted adventure outside the stern walls of Winterfell.

Missandei and Arya. Arya and Missandei. She disliked either combination for reasons she didn’t have to examine. She didn’t want to think of the night she saw them together. They were drinking near a campfire. There was music and dancing initiated by the Dothrahki, who still had an inordinately large appetite for life. They’d been celebrating the deaths of their enemies, their comrades and the life of the ones left behind to thrive. Daenerys didn’t dance. She drank and observed the festivities, which had always been fine with her. 

Ser Jorah was on her arm back then. He wouldn’t have left her side and that night was no different. Except, his presence also deterred Arya. At that time they shared very little about each other personally. Daenerys was ambitious and Arya could fight, that’s as personal as they preferred it in those days. Missandei wasn’t anchored by...anything it seemed. It seemed easy for Arya and Missandei in the beginning. To her knowledge they never pursued each other. It was out of the question to compare notes with Grey Worm, so she suffered in silence. 

After that night she resolved to explore her attraction with Arya, for the sake of keeping her to herself. The old rumblings of jealousy expanded in her chest making it hard to breath. 

“Dany?” Jon ducked down to meet her gaze. “Dany, it will be okay.”

Arya, she was horrible with comfort. Even when she was there, she wasn’t. Here was Jon being present and attentive. While his sister was having an adventure with the last woman on earth Daenerys wanted her alone with.

“Have all your family come down with a case of omniscience?” she asked “First Arya, then Sansa, now you. Your whole family carries themselves like they can bend the future to their will.”

“We’ve all experienced hell. When you come back from death, prison, and torture you look at the world different.”

“What is it you see?” Daenarys frowned. After a short sigh Jon answered, “I can’t explain it.”

“Why?” Daenerys’ tone hardened. “Because I haven’t suffered?”

“You heard stories about the annihilation of her family. We lived and every day we’re reminded of what it took to be the last Starks standing.”


	9. Chapter 9

So much blood. Arya can’t escape it. There is always something to remind her of the catalyst that brought her down this path. It seems she can’t escape it. And she finds reasons to stay as close to the chaos as much as possible.

“This country of yours,” Missandei murmured underneath her breath.

“Your country too, soon.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“It’s not all the bad,” Arya shrugged, turning to Missandei.

The other woman glared at her. She shifted in the saddle towards the bandits Arya dispatched moments before. “How could I miss it’s charm?”

“Essos has the same sort of characters,” Arya said. She nodded toward the trees, “But it’s got a nice view.”

“I’m not a fan of the woods. Sand is more straightforward,” Missandei countered.

“Aye perhaps.” Arya was drifting to another place. A far off place with her mother and her father and her deceased family. 

The woods had been a haven. Even when she was running for her life and in the company of The Hound. Her time in the sand was a stark contrast to her experiences tripping over herself to survive. 

“If not for these woods I don’t think we would have met,” Arya confessed. “As a hunter you have to use your surroundings to hide you from your prey. There’s only so much blending one can do with sand. The woods, it swallows you up. You can be anyone you want to be. Take those poor souls who thought they could rob us. They resort to robbery by day to feed their families tonight.”

“Those families will go unfed. You aren’t so sentimental to leave food or coin behind for those families you speak of?”

Arya’s mouth grew into a smirk. “No, I’m not so sentimental. We still have a long journey ahead. I focus on the many who will benefit from me at my full strength. I can’t very well kill Cersei on an empty stomach.”

“You’re going to do it then.”

“Yes, you don’t sound enthusiastic. All of this will be over. I would think you of all people would be tired of the violence.”

“I know it’s necessary,” Missandei pointed out. “I would be lying if I said…”

Arya peaked at her woman from the corner of her eye. “It’s just me and the forest here. Both of us have been known to keep strict confidences.”

Missandei shook her head. “You haven’t changed in the worst way.”

“I like to stay consistent.”

“You like to be an ass.”

“You’ve been in the company of soldiers for too long.”

“Soldier didn’t corrupt me,” Missandei gave the brunette a pointed look.

“You keep looking at me like that and I might forget that I’m spoken for.”

“You left her with your king. You left her in a den of advisors that want to see her married off.”

“I left her to win this war. It’s the one thing that I can do for her that they can’t.” Arya ducked her head to avoid a low hanging branch. “It’s funny. Rage is the reason I learned how to kill. Revenge has been part of me for so long and it’s not the reason propelling me towards Cersei.”

“Love?”  
“I did not say that.”

“Do not worry my friend. I’m an adept translator. I know what you meant.”

Arya didn’t share any more thoughts on the subject. Instead she reached into her saddle bag and pulled out an apple. She tossed it to Missandei. She almost lost it and fell off the horse in an effort to catch the fruit. Arya laughed at the composed translator’s graceless catch.

For the next several days they rarely saw other travelers. They avoided the Inns as she journeyed closer to King’s Landing. On the last night before they reached the wall and eventually the tunnels that would take them underneath the city Arya laid out the faces.

Missandei sat on the other side of the fire. Arya had gone increasingly silent. She made for poor company, which left Missandei dependent on books and scrolls to ease her nerves. The good idea Arya shared with her in the North was losing its grandeur. While they could possibly be the two heroes to end the war, it was just as likely they could also become the greatest fools and end up dead.

This wasn’t talk she wanted to share with Arya, not that the woman would entertain a conversation about failure.

“You have your faces. You have me. You have your resolve,” Missandei said as she closed her finger in a book to save a page.

Arya clasped her hands and rested her mouth on her knuckles.

“I just want assurances that if we die...promise me Cersei comes with us.”

“I’m supposed to be the dark and dreary one,” Arya came to life. She failed to deliver a reassuring smirk and opted for a weak one.

Missandei observed the attempt. She swallowed. It seemed fitting that this be the time and place she revisit all the horrific events and people she survived. She should be dead, a casualty of following Daenerys Targaryen as she conquered her enemies. 

“I will do what I came here to do,” Arya’s tone was hard. “I wouldn’t want to face Daenerys if you ever came to harm.”

“If that’s as good as it gets...I can live with that.” A sigh came later. Missandei hugged herself with the fur blanket she would carry to her bed.

“We’ve gone over the plan hundreds of times,” Arya pointed out. “I can’t do this without you.”

Missandei nodded, blinking into the fire. She hoped they got out of this alive. She hoped she’d be able to frown at the taste of wine when they celebrated Cersei’s death. Missandei hoped for a lot of things that focused on the attempt of the meanest, blondest, horror of a Lannister.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos, everyone!

King’s Landing was on the horizon and only getting closer. Missandei didn’t look particularly impressed. Part of Arya was glad for that. It would take some effort to stomach listening to the grandeur of the architecture or the impressive height, stone, and glass. She managed through it once. She was smaller and no more interested in the castle than the dirt under her boot. 

Sansa’s voice, younger and eager, imagined herself as a queen of such a beautiful kingdom. She imagined a king in Joffrey. She imagined a mother in Cersei. She imagined a lot of things that were impossible for most people to live up to as it was in opposition to their character. That young idealist girl had been murdered a hundred times over the years. It saddened Arya to think of it now, how much of her sister lay as gone and buried as her mother and father. 

She had been insufferable on more occasions than not, but Arya missed the hope and innocence in her sister’s eyes. It had been replaced by something sharper. The legerity of her mind impressed and frightened Arya, not that she would give her sister the satisfaction of knowing how fully she respected her. That she had never grown out of and it was a shortcoming of her character. She should tell the people she loved how much she loved them.

“It’s time,” Arya said. It was the only warning she gave Missandei before she reached into her bag of faces.

This was something that she usually did without an audience. Missandei hadn’t been curious to see and in fact had been vocal about being warned about the whole thing. 

Arya dismounted and entered the woods. She jumped over a fallen log. It was rotten. She found a place Missandei couldn’t see her and she could keep an eye on the older woman. She held onto Arya’s horse as she waited for the deed to be done. It never takes too long. It’s neither painful or painless when it happens. She’s no longer someone...she’s no one up until she becomes...his name is Grinn.

Yes, he told her that right before she closed his eyes and began mumbling a prayer. He was the leader of the group. Arya saved him for last. Not that she took pleasure cutting down his comrades in front of him. He was bleeding out as his chest heaved. His eyes were on the sky. He said she’d taken away the use of his legs.

He didn’t look like the type that could manage a life like that. Hell, Arya didn’t think that she could be as sane as Bran turned out. It was a compliment to her brother’s level headedness.

“How do I look?” asked Arya.

Missandei distracted herself with a bug inspecting a rock just underneath her horse. She eyed the new face and her feelings were masked behind a wall. “Yes, that will do.”

“It’s not like I want you to be impressed, but you could show some enthusiasm.”

“You took a man’s face.”

Arya as Grinn frowns. “I have his body, his voice, I know the way he walks and the way he fights. I know he speaks. It’s a little bit more than taking a man’s face.”

“I apologize O Great and Mighty Face Taker. Please spare me from thy wrath.”

“I haven’t decided what to do about your insolence yet,” said after she mounted her horse again.

“Whatever my punishment...may it be swift.”

“That I cannot promise.”

Missandei’s smile faltered, “I thought Starks were more noble than that.”

“All the noble Starks are dead,” Arya said, losing the teasing in her voice from a few moments ago. 

“All the noble Starks are dead,” a voice repeated from the wood as if it were a verse in a song. A weathered body soon followed the weathered voice.

Arya surveyed the woman with interest befitting a warrior, who didn’t underestimate the potential for anyone to become an enemy. She was short and holding herself up with a staff. Her hair was short with dusts of grey. Her height, her frame, and her eyes reminded Arya immediately of her mother. Arya attributed the scar on her neck as the reason for her hoarseness.

“Is that funny to you? A whole line nearly annihilated?” Arya’s knuckles go white as she grips her horse’s reins.

Her annoyance elicited a chuckle. A shrill whistle comes from her as she resumes her stroll down the same road leading to King’s Landing.

“Are you deaf?”

“Ar...that’s enough,” Missandei stumbled over her name as she tried to reason with her. “She’s an old woman.”

“Perhaps her old age affects her skills of self preservation.”

“Big words for the big man who works for the bitch of King’s Landing,” replied the older woman who doesn’t miss a stride. “Will you take me to her highness so she can burn me with wildfire?” She shouts over her shoulder before she stops and eyes Missandei, “Or are you selling the queen something you think she wants.”

Arya guides her horse into a short sprint to cut the woman off. She dismounts into a cloud of dust that dissipates to reveal wide amused eyes. 

“It’s not wise for someone in your position to show how deeply you care for someone.”

Arya snarled. “I’ll decline the advice of wisdom from a woman who lets her mouth run so wildly.”

“Better my mouth than my heart,” her left shoulder rose and fell as if she were bothered. Her eyes slid to the side as if she were bored. 

That was the first indication for Arya that she'd made a mistake leaving Missandei’s side. The forest came alive or rather the people hiding out inside of it began coming alive. They were covered in leaves, twigs, and dirt from their heads to their toes. Arya reached from the older woman and held her close like a shield. She pressed her dagger to her neck just above the woman’s scar.

Arrows were knocked and aimed at the surprised Naathi atop her stolen steed. 

“I’m old and ready to die,” the woman croaked with her hot breathing hitting Arya right under her chin. “She’s young and she doesn’t look very ready to die...what do you think?”

“Release her,” Arya demanded.

“No.”

The knife cut into flesh. The older woman neither whimpered or withdrew. If anything Arya sensed her humor heightened. “Kill her!”

“No!” Arya screamed her voice was louder and deeper and startled the birds overhead, they flew away.

“Wait!” the woman hissed, too late.

One of their leafy attackers released the arrow aimed at Missandei. The Naathi’s body slumped as the arrow pierced her side. Arya’s mind was in a red place. She couldn’t help Missandei because there were four armed shooters. Arya acted on instinct and stabbed the older woman in the side in almost the same exact spot her friend had been shot.

She cried out. The archers were startled by the sound and Arya used their shock. She tossed the older woman to the dirt. She threw her body to the ground and rolled over into a kneeling position. She brought the first attacker down with a precisely thrown rock. Their hands covered their face as blood exploded through their fingers. The other archers were quickly realizing Arya in Grinn’s body wasn’t going to be stopped by anymore threats. The second archer shot off an arrow and it missed Arya by only a few inches. 

Arya grabbed the bow. She wrenched it down bringing the archer, who refused to relinquish it, with it. She slammed her forehead into the second archer’s head. The body dropped like a sack of potatoes. Breathing heavily she saw the third with their arms up and backing away. The fourth archer was kneeling beside the old woman. 

Everyone had lost their will to fight in seconds. Not Arya, not when Missandei was bleeding out with an arrow in her stomach. She ran to her side. Her eyes were still open and her mouth moved, but Arya shook her head, “No, don’t speak. Save your strength. Don’t you dare die either, Dany would never forgive me.”

Missandei struggled to form a sentence. She couldn’t get past one word. Arya reached to cradle and that’s when she felt the kiss of a gentle blade sliding across her neck. She turned her head in time to see the third archer. Their eyes were brighter and younger and as Arya rose to pounce on them she realized she didn’t have full control anymore. She’d been poisoned. She couldn’t help Missandei like this. Dany would never forgive her if she didn’t try her damndest to save the translator.

She threw her arm wildly. It hit the air. She threw her arm out again and landed face first in the dirt.

“Miss...don touch her. Don…”

*

Arya’s hands were tied behind her back. Cataloguing her ankle she discovered her feet were tied, too. She should have kept moving and let the old woman run her mouth. She would have avoided waking up with a splitting headache and wondering if Missandei died alone with a stranger staring at her uselessly.

“We should kill him.”

More deliberation about her life. She’d woken up to the vicious warmth of a fire and almost thought that they were going to burn her alive. They dumped her body near a fire and left her there. Voices, all female, thundered over the roaring fire.

“We could eat him.”

“Take his horse, his coins, his clothes, and leave him naked on the road.”

“Seraphin was almost killed.”

“She probably deserved it.” That had roused one chuckle.

Arya deduced there were three voices. Two older and one younger. The younger one didn’t seem as concerned as the other two about Seraphin’s injury. Seraphin, was that the mouthy old woman?

“He attacked one of our own. He’s no different than the dogs just like him,” a kick to Arya’s shoulder followed. “They think very highly of themselves. You think very highly of yourself, dog?”

“I am not a dog,” she said in Grinn’s voice.

“The dog speaks,” the speaker said, kicking him again.

“Stop it Celeste,” the speaker with the younger voice berates Arya’s attacker.

“He could be one of them. He could have our family’s blood on his hands. Your husbands, my sons...we don’t know.”

“That’s right...we don’t know.” 

Arya listened. There were more people around. They weren’t close enough to weigh in on her fate. They were most likely in another portion of a camp. There were too many voices to pinpoint how many. Perhaps that’s where Missandei was being kept.

Spilling their blood wasn’t the answer, Arya considered and tossed the idea. This group had already lost enough. Nor would they understand it if Arya took off Grinn’s face and exposed magic few understood. They were a simple bunch. They were hungry and angry, not malicious, which was evidenced by them healing Missandei and keeping Arya alive despite stabbing their leader. 

Arya channeled her older sister. Sansa would assess the character of her captors. She would adapt and do anything in her power to survive. That was Sansa’s power. Now Arya had to find a way to utilize it. 

“You should have left both of them on the road to die,” the older speaker spat again.

“Irmani’s right.” 

Arya shifted on her back. The women were speaking around her and outside of her view. She smelled berries and forest and hate in the air. 

“Not all of us are loyal to Cersei Lannister,” Arya said. Her words silenced her captors and when she was satisfied she had their attention, she continued. “Some of us want more than the bloodshed.”

“The woman you were with.”

“Missandei. Where is she? Did you leave her to die on the road?”

“We’re not monsters, we’re not like you,” the older speaker spoke up. She kept her foot to herself this time.

“Please, where is she?”

The younger woman finally spoke up. She was with a healer. Her injury wasn’t fatal, but she wouldn’t be able to travel. 

Arya exhaled in relief.

“You stabbed one of our own. That comes with consequences.”

“Am I to act as someone in their right mind when I witness someone I love cut down by angry bandits?”

“What do you think we should do with you, then?”

“Let me finish what I started.”

“You hear that?” Her hair was pulled back and the bitter woman came into view. Spit showered as she seethed. “He wants to kill us.”

The fire warms both their faces. “I don’t give a goat’s ass about you. And I don’t serve the bitch Cersei. I’m going to kill her.”

“Kill Cersei Lannister? You? You’re a naughty dog then.”

“I’m…” Arya stopped herself. “I’ve done horrible things. I served with men who did horrible things. I can’t ever wash my hands of that.” Arya closed Grinn’s eyes. Images of a white haired beauty washed in the amber rays of morning fill her head.

They were a band of refugees who had to eat. They survived the war ravaged area on instinct alone. Many of their loved ones were unfortunate victims to the chaos. Their husbands were killed. Their sons were killed. Their lives were rearranged at the whim of the needs and wants of conquerors. There was a fervent hate for King’s Landing soldiers. 

“You are a sight,” Arya gasped happily.

Missandei’s lips were tight as she lightly replied, “You get shot in the stomach and tell me how you feel.”

“You’re alive.”

Missandei swallowed. “You’re safe,” her fingers brushed against the purple bruise on her companion’s face. “As safe as you can be, considering. Where are we?”

She turned her head to the left then to the right. There wasn’t much to see from her prone position, but she didn’t dare move.

Arya caught her hand and said, “A camp and from what I can tell they’re all just women and children.” She leaned down to Missandei’s ear. “I told a lie.” She kissed Missandei’s cheek and temple. She hovered over the other woman’s forehead, “And I need your help,” she whispered.

Missandei gasped. “Ar…” 

Arya whispered so that only the other woman could hear. “May I kiss you? Our lives depend on how genuine this looks. If you don’t want me to touch you. I won’t.”

Missandei swallowed. She didn’t trust her voice or her ability to acquiesce with so many thoughts bombarding her in such a sensitive state. Instead of giving Arya’s permission, she closed the distance between them. She licked Arya’s bottom lip before pressing a chaste kiss on them and resigning to lay back on her pillow to catch her breath. 

Arya caresses her cheek as brown eyed flutter shut. “On a straw bed laying in her own sweat and blood she’s still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.” 

The woman who escorted her to the infirmary made up of a discarded war tent and sheets promised her privacy. She made a reappearance just as Missandei and Arya were coming down. “I’m sorry we can’t do more for the pain. We’re already sharing limited supplies.”

“Thank you,” Missandei responded weakly and sincerely.

“You should rest,” she held out a leather belly with liquid inside. As soon as Arya sniffed it she knew it wasn’t medicine. Missandei had no tolerance for mead, it would have to do. 

“Is this the best you can do?” Arya asked the woman who set her free and escorted her to their makeshift infirmary. 

“What part of limited supplies don’t you understand?” Celeste, the kicker, joined them.

Missandei winced and Arya conceded putting the skins to her lips. Missandei’s frown deepened, immediately disliking the taste. However, she understood that this was the only reprieve she’d be receiving for the pain and continued to drink. When she came up for air and settled, Arya had a hand ready to push and unruly curl from her face.

“This usually doesn’t happen. We teach our kids to be vigilant on the runs. No one needs to be hurt unnecessarily.”

Arya tried to remember herself at fourteen. Headstrong. Stubborn. Afraid. Determined. Angry. It became worse after her father. She had been properly trained before about her emotions and the impact of those emotions during battle. That foundation and a few other life lessons guided her to the Faceless Men to be properly trained. She was in a camp of unchanneled emotions with three women at the helm. Her nameless escort seemed the most reasonable for the other two Celeste and Irmani.

Arya turned back to a slumbering Missandei. She gripped her hand and brought it to her mouth. When she kissed her knuckle the woman stirred then fell into a deeper sleep. 

“You do this for her?”

“Yea.” 

“Lying is the language of your people.”

“I have no people. I just have her. I don’t have anything else.”

The woman didn’t seem to accept them as truth as her frown deepened. “Are you a soldier or a fool? You give up so much so easily. You don’t know us and yet we know just enough about you.”

“You’re not murderers. She’s being cared for with the limited resources you have. Resources, that I’m sure are greatly needed in a time like this.”

“So what was your grand plan? Travel with the love of your life to King’s Landing and slay the queen? If you love her why would you take her?”

“She is safer with me.”

“You don’t seem that impressive, not if an old woman and a few kids get the best of you.”

Arya glared.

Her escort continued. “Cersei will let the people starve before she opens the gates to her city. Some of us have family there. None of us have ever been able to get in. The trade routes are still open. They’re not heavily guarded. There are men with swords for sale who protect the carriages of goods that our people need. We have our eyes on a shipment sitting in the stables of an Inn.” Her green eyes drop to Missandei. “There might be some medicine for her.”

“But there will definitely be food for you,” Arya challenged.


	11. Chapter 11

Control.

Daenarys sought out Drogon for the taste of control. The bulk of her time was spent in meetings. Creating plans for taking over King’s Landing without hurting confused and scared people. Tyrion was at the head of that charge while Daenarys listened to the ideas and opinions of people. Jon was on her arm silently affirming that he believed what she believed. She weighed the information she was given everyday about the commoners, soldiers, the morale, the food, her enemies. She hadn’t heard anything from Missandei or Arya. 

Drogon lifts her up from the air. 

The world is a heavier place on the ground. People live there, cry there, and die there. As far as Daenarys can tell, the sky holds no such woes. She’s been on the ground all her life and it’s when she’s so far out of reach and above the ground that she feels the most in control. Drogon is an extension of her in the best way and his wings might as well be hers.

In the safety of the clouds, atop her child, her heart beats soundly. Her mind isn’t bombarded by the voices of advisors, she avoids the blaming gazes of common folk, and she’s free of the ghosts of Winterfell. However, there was one ghost she’d never be free of no matter how far or fast she flew.

Up here, she could think about Arya without her brother looking at her with yearning. Up here, there were no consequences to her affection towards Jon’s sister.

She had avoided Arya as much as she could until the night she watched her and Missandei laugh so freely in the light of fire. The burning in her chest didn’t come from pleasure. It was something darker and more frightening to think of one of her closest friends as competition. No, not Missandei. Not the woman who stood by her side when all others put their ego above loyalty. She thought of the night she sought Arya out under the guise of a stroll.

She'd received regular reports on the dark haired woman. It was common for sounds of a troubled sleep to come from her tent. It was her ritual to leave the privacy of her tent to calm her nerves with a dance. Daenarys had thought the Dothrahki had misspoken when she heard it. That night she walked to Arya's tent, on the assumption that she wouldn't be able to sleep, she found her with a sword in hand. She was ducking, dodge, and attacking an invisible enemy that must have been just as graceful to elicit equally graceful movements.

Sweat collected over her brow and over her lip. It was a cool night so Daenarys assumed she'd been dancing with great intensity. She didn't want to interrupt and found a spot where she could watch without halting the other woman's actions. It seemed that she caught the tail end of the dance. When Arya stopped moving she looked up at the stars as if asking if whoever she'd been dancing for was pleased.

“There’s nothing more beautiful than a woman covered in sweat in moonlight,” said Daenarys, interrupting Arya’s dance. 

Arya’s movements were a fluid and hypnotic dance with a sword that looked no more lethal than a needle. Daenarys invited her to her camp among her Soldiers against the wishes of her closest guards, Ser Jorah being the loudest. Arya declined the offer. She chose to sleep in the heart of her Soldiers as if that was the safest place for her, an outsider.

“It’s late,” Arya responded, eyeing the Dothrahki that served as the queen’s shadows.

Daenarys dropped her chin and guided her head to the right. “You drank a lot tonight. I’m glad you made it to your tent safely.”

“Does concern for my safety keep you up at night, your grace?”

“Is it wrong to care for those who risk their lives for me?”

“No. The concern it’s...familiar. I knew a man, he was the most deliberate ruler I’d ever met. I could tell you he was honorable because I don’t bestow that title easily. It killed him, too, but it’s still nice to see that it exists.”

She lowered her gaze to Arya’s hand, still holding her sword. “You miss him? He meant a lot to you.”

“I’ve been drinking. It’s my excuse and I’ll abuse it, if you don’t mind.” Arya turned towards her small tent and shrugged. “I’m safe. No need for royalty to go above and beyond for me any longer.”

“I also came to thank you,” Daenarys admitted.

Arya stared at her evenly.

“Missandei, her laugh is beautiful isn’t it?”

“Aye.”

“And you provoke it so easily,” said Daenarys with something swimming inside the comment that wasn’t necessarily a compliment.

“I make it look easy, I assure you.”

“Her life before...it wasn’t kind to her.”

“Missandei’s story should be Missandei’s to tell. I’m just happy I get to use something other than my blade to please. My blade is my best attribute and one I thought would elicit a visit from you before now, not the fact that I can tell a mean joke.”

“I’ve noticed how well you kill, Arya. Although I have an entire camp filled with skilled warriors.”

“Assassin,” Arya corrected her. “I worked very hard to warrant that distinction.”

“You think it’s wise to remind the very woman you attempted to kill?”

“I’m not ashamed of what I am. Nor should you ignore the fact that you wielded the power to stop me and influence me to your cause.”

“I don’t remember any grand speeches or negotiations with you,” Daenarys' voice became hard remembering finding Arya in her tent. She had a knife in her hand and her shoulders sagged wearily from bearing a huge weight.

“You underestimate the image of you on the back of a dragon.”

Daenarys sounded almost disappointed when she answered, “Power, you are attracted to my power.”

“Aye, would you rather I trip over my lower lip at the sight of your beauty?”

Daenarys folding her hands in front of her. “It’s hard to imagine this is the same tongue that provokes Missandei’s laughter.”

“I would serve you best with my honesty and my sword.”

“And if I wanted more?”

“The queen who desires a laugh from an assassin does not understand what an assassin is.”

“If the assassin can’t please me then she does not understand what it means to serve me.”

Arya sheathed her sword and placed her hands behind her back. “I can see you just as well as I can serve you, your grace.”

Daenarys couldn’t identify when the conversation had gone wrong. Her emotions were getting out of control and she wished there was another way to respond. “You see a woman riding a dragon.”

“Aye, and I think if the woman can do that then she’s capable of anything.”

The conversation hadn’t exploded into a fight as the white haired woman expected. Shock gave way to another feeling she couldn’t dissect in its entirety in front of Arya. She turned on her heel. She walked back to her camp feeling, rather than seeing, her shadows fall in step with her.

For most of her life she’d been told what she could and couldn’t do. They seemed to bask in her ability to usurp control conjuring an atmosphere of doubt until Daenarys accepted it as true. Still, there was something inside her that didn’t bow so easily. It was a whisper that she was more than a tool for others to wield to their will. The first time that whisper became a scream she was reborn with fire.

Her thoughts came back to the present. She rubbed the scales of the dragon underneath her. They were so high that she couldn't see the ground and she didn't mind. Up here it was easy to believe, like Arya said, that anything was possible.


	12. Chapter 12

“Almost done,” Celeste said from the Naathi’s stomach. The wound was redressed with new bandages after salve was put on the wound to help expedite the healing.

Daenarys would be displeased when she found out, Missandei thought. She tried to inch away again causing the older woman to hiss and apologize.

“It has to be done,” she said from her full height. She handed her a wooden up of water and leaned it down to her mouth. Missandei leaned in to drink. “Are you worried?” a woman asked after she put the cup down and handed Missandei a cloth.

The translator, turned advisor to the dragon queen, nodded gratefully and wiped her mouth. “We don’t know who you are…and still you found a use for us.” she said. “I’m your hostage as you nurse me to health and that’s all the impetus he needs, isn’t it?”

The older woman accepted the cloth. She folded twice before she sat it on the table next to Missandei. She sat in the seat Arya had claimed hours before she left for the raid.

“You don’t trust us.”

“You’re the reason I’m here.”

“Barbaric soldiers are the reason you’re here,” Celeste delivered harshly.

Missandei set her jaw. It was a familiar excuse. She’d overheard it from soldiers who blame their actions on their demons. They don’t accept who they became was their choice. There were only a handful that didn’t arouse her anxiety by forgetting their ability to choose. Grey Worm and Arya come to mind for her. 

“You’re a long ways away from home,” said her caretaker, clearing her throat. She clasped her hands. She divided her focus on the round aged knuckles and the intense brown eyes, that wouldn’t waver without an answer.

Other than adjusting her shoulder and a wince Missandei didn’t respond to the observation.

“I haven’t done much traveling, but I can tell by your look that you’re from Dorne, maybe.” She tilted her head as if to get a better view. “Westeros,” she guessed again. “How did you come to meet your soldier?”

Missandei had a long history with people, who wished her ill will. She wasn’t sure how much Arya had shared and resolved that if they did mean them true harm they wouldn’t have used limited resources on a stranger. Still, it was better to stick with a half truth. She trusted that Arya would agree.

“I was a slave,” she admitted.

“Well cared for by the look of your teeth,” Celeste raised her nose.

Missandei buried her anxiety hearing that comment. She waited for the next question, expecting to be interrogated more.

“I suppose it was love at first sight then?”

“No,” she shook her head. She sucked her lips in, which didn’t stop the smile tugging at them. “The opposite.”

“He does seem like a charmer, cutting the necks of old women.”

“That seems unfair coming from my hostage taker.”

Celeste stood waving her arm towards the entrance of the tent. “You’re able to leave at any time.”

“Doesn’t that seem a little insincere considering the hole in my stomach and my….” Missandei stopped. What name had Arya given them. Celeste was already searching for something to find her guilty of. What would she do to her if she figured out the lie? Nothing good, she assumed. 

“Husband?”

“No,” she said recklessly.

“But you will?”

Missandei nodded. 

“You don’t have all the time you think you do.” Celeste’s voice was so soft Missandei thought someone else walked in. “He loves you and he’ll do what needs to be done to make sure you’re safe. That’s a good attribute to have in a husband.”

“Was yours like that?”

“No. I’m probably one of the few women here, who aren’t upset about those soldiers gutting him. He was someone to pass the time. Then I got pregnant.”

Missandei gasped. “Your son?”

Celeste’s jaw worked and her eyes rose to the ceiling.

“I’m sorry.”

“Gentle heart,” Celeste murmured, losing a lot of the edge she initially had. “Your man? He kills for a living. My boy, he wanted to be a soldier, too. He had the heart for it, he saved my life. He was fifteen, dumb enough to believe that he could stand a chance.”

“Or brave enough,” Missandei countered gently, which earned a pained smile from a mourning mother.

“I don’t know,” her sharp shoulders rose and fell. “There’s a lot I thought I knew. A mother does not outlive her children. It’s not natural.” She lifted her eyes waking up from a dream. “Your man, he had to know there was a possibility that this would happen,” she lifted her chin gesturing towards the wounded woman. “If not us then someone else.”

“I wouldn’t let him leave me. We’re better together,” said Missandei.

“You didn’t think he’d come back for you?”

The teasing in her tone bothered Missandei, provoking bravado rarely heard in her voice. “No, he didn’t want to lose me.”

Celeste straightened her back. She brushed her legs with nothing else to do with her hands. In the next instant she stood and disappeared without so much as a backwards glance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The stables were quiet and guarded by two burly characters and two men half their size. One looked more alert than the other three who were sitting in a circle chewing on dried meat and drinking by a modest fire.

The only one standing guard announced that he needed to pee. The others barely acknowledged him with a wave, then he was off into the bushes. The leaves were still waving when Arya came up behind him with a rock. He collapsed in hard leaves and pebbles.

They were a small group. Arya was the tallest among them in Grinn’s body. The horses were tied up nearby. The stables were only used to house the carriage of goods. It became apparent upon inspecting the structure that several patches suggested a recent fire. It was only good enough as a rough and partial cover. The merchant and his guards most likely thought of the same, which saved them from committing to extra work.

Her escort, who Arya later learned was Sara, made a gesture towards the stables to the other nameless girls that joined them. When they disappeared Arya looked at the woman questioningly before Sara put a finger over her own lips to signal for Arya’s patience.

The crouched in the brush near the body. Arya looked on as the girls posed as two women in conversation. Behind her, Sara went through the purse sitting on the collapsed guard’s hip. She gave a toothy smile to Arya, who stared at the two women stumbling and giggling. It seemed the ploy made an impression and one moved away from the comforting fire.

She hit Arya’s shoulder before she asked Arya to throw her over the shoulder and walk them out into the opening. The shapeshifter cursed under her breath before shaking her head. She grabbed a knife from her side and yanked Sara up harshly.

“Don’t go falling for their witchcraft boys!” she yelled out to them. She dragged Sara along with the knife still at her throat.

It had the desired response. Everyone was trained on Arya. Thankfully, the women weren’t too startled by the outburst that they forgot to act. One woman slammed her knee in a knee cap. The woman at her side threw a chunk of wood at the second man who fumbled with it. The wood gave her a small window to throw a rock at his head. His legs buckled.

The last one held up his hands in surrender. Arya released Sara. The shorter woman tried to punch the fourth man. It was a wild swing he dodged easily. Arya would have with her eyes closed. If these were the best ‘warriors’ they wouldn’t last many more raids like this. 

“I’ll drive,” Sara said to the other two before sending two off to get the horses.

Aray was on her heels. The carriage was full of crates and sacks. They’d made a good haul if Sara’s smile was any indication. She grabbed an apple from a sack and put it in her mouth. Arya shook her head when she offered her one. 

“You’re pretty good at improvising,” glared Sara. They heard the horses greeting the rest of their small group. Sara continued, “We’ll have food for a month.”

Movement. Quick and deliberate and Arya blamed her time with the Faceless Men that made her sensitive to shadows on the wall or the smell of smoked meat on someone’s breath. She jumped from the carriage in time to miss a blade aiming for her legs. She rolled and twisted, withdrawing her blade in a fluid movement.

Apparently, his head was too strong for the rock. He lunged forward and Arya sidestepped the blow to catch his wrist with her left hand. She stabbed it with her right. He cradled his hand and his groaning bothered the horses being ushered in. She didn’t want to kill the man over a wagon of food, but damned if he wasn’t trying to die over it. 

He brought a knife from behind him. It was tucked in his belt. Instead of continuing his dance with Arya he grabbed the first body near him. Sara fell from the wagon and he went to his knees and yanked her hair. 

“Don’t move.”

It was an unoriginal threat. Arya wasn’t impressed as she tossed up her knife and threw it at the stubborn guard. No one had to die, she thought to herself as she watched her knife enter his neck. Five deliberate strides later, she’d reclaimed her knife and eyed the women who kept their distance reviewing her handiwork.

“Thank you,” Sara murmured.

Arya grunted and hopped back in the wagon to resume her search. Finally, she released a sigh of relief, finding the title of maester on a tag attached to a bundle of herbs and medicines for Missandei. Tonight wasn’t a loss. Her discovery put her in a better mood. She didn’t even mind the whispering on the way back to the camp. 

“Here,” Sara said abruptly on the main road and not very far from where they stole the wagon.

Arya looked strangely at the woman. Suddenly bodies were coming out of the woods like ants leaving their hill. Hands reached for different backs in an organized chaos where everyone worked in silent delight. It took Arya several moments to discover what this all meant. She grabbed the sack of ingredients for Missandei. 

The bodies returned in different directions leading to different areas in the forest. The guards wouldn’t know which one to follow. If they were smart enough to avoid being tracked they were smart enough to lead their would be trackers to multiple dead ends.

“Come,” Sara tugged her away from the emptying cart. “After they empty it and take the horses, they’ll burn it.”

Arya glanced back at the cart and never ending shadows, grabbing the contents of the cart greedily.

She went through the ingredients after dragging the stool closer to the bed so the other woman could see as well. 

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“We can’t stay here,” Arya said. She held up to vials in the light of a candle.

“She shouldn’t leave in her condition,” barked Celeste. Sara was by her side still wearing a smug smile. 

Arya eyed the woman suspiciously when she began to inventory the contents of the bag. “We had a deal. I feed your people and we get to leave.”

“She doesn’t need the travel to aggravate her wound,” Celeste challenged.

Arya didn’t want to back down from the older woman who had taken a liking to abusing her shoulder. She also couldn’t disagree with that logic. Missandei would be well enough in a few weeks, not tonight.

“We can’t stay,” Missandei groaned as she sat up and managed to get her feet over the bed.

“No,” Arya discouraged her. She knelt and planted her hands on the bed as an invisible barrier. She’d made a promise a long time ago she wouldn’t touch the woman unless she asked, especially when she was like this.

“What about Cersei?” the translator tried to reason with Arya.

“I’ll deal with her,” the brunette said and squared her shoulders.

“How?” asked Missandei. They both knew that the translator was a very important part of that plan.

“I’ll find a way. I always do.”

“Good,” Celeste said. “There’s a church nearby. It’s not good for her to stay there. Sara says you saved her life...for that we can at least put her somewhere more comfortable. It’s where we house the smaller children. It’s not much, but you’ll like this better than sharing a tent with potatoes,” Celeste explained. 

Arya looked around at the sacks identical to the ones on the wagon. She reached to help Missandei return to a comfortable position.

“What do we call you two?” asked Sara feeling she at least needed to satisfy one more mystery tonight.

“Grinn,” Arya tested the name.

“Missandei,” the woman said through labored breathing.

Celeste stayed behind when Sara said she’d grab them more blankets. “Your wife is a very brave woman.”

Arya looked to Missandei first. “She’s not my wife.”

Celeste’s brows rose to her forehead meaningfully. “Aye, and don’t you think it’s time you changed that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll let you all in on a little a secret: My goal is to earn one million kudos from all the stories I right. :) Thank you for helping me to reach my goal.


	13. Chapter 13

Arya and Missandei weren’t left alone for long. Sara came back with blankets in between the assembly line of women depositing goods from the stolen wagon. The women took that opportunity to drink in the new strangers. Missandei could tell that most of their interest was trained on Arya in Grinn’s body.

They were all plain and hard looking women. Missandei felt for them as her thoughts went back to the first group they’d met on the road. They did what they had to because they were hungry. It was no different from how she spent the majority of her life before Daenarys gave her a choice.

“We don’t get many outsiders,” explained Sara of the looks they were receiving. She tucked a curly strand of hair behind her ear. “Least of all men.”

Arya’s brows remained level while she shared a look with the wounded adviser. “I feel special.”

“You were useful. I have a feeling you still can be.”

Missandei said, “Celeste told me about your men and you boys.” She looked at Arya as she explained. “Soldiers attacked their village..the men and the boys didn't survive.” 

“Strange things happen in war time,” Sara conceded. “We’ve had to adapt because of it. “We will move you in the morning. Until then it’s going to be a little crowded in here,” she nodded her chin toward the spoils from the wagon. “I owe you an apology,” she laid a hand on Arya’s shoulder.

Arya was more interested in surveying her friend’s injuries. 

Sara continued, “There will be a guard posted here to protect our food.”

She didn’t have to finish her sentence for Arya or Missandei to understand what she left unsaid. They were strangers and Arya showed just how deadly she could be. The guard was a tall, wide woman with her hair hidden under a black scarf. She wore a long sword at her hip, if anything happened it would be easy for her to reach. Then again, it would be just as easy for Arya to take it and slit her throat. 

Missandei eyed Sara’s hand on Arya’s shoulder. “Thank you, for your help.”

Sara took her time to meet Missandei’s gaze. “He saved my life. I don’t even know his name or yours,” she waited for the answers to her silent question.

“I know that feeling,” the wounded woman shared with a gentle tone as she reached for Arya’s hand meaningfully. A tug followed the gesture making Arya turn her back to Sara who wore a smug smile as if everything was falling into place. 

“I don’t like the way she’s looking at you. I know that look.”

“I never took you for the jealous type,” Arya said playfully. She made no effort to release Missandei’s hand.

“I’m serious. The way she looked at you...the masters have that look. You’re only as valuable as they think you can fulfill their desires.”

“I never took you for paranoid, either,” Arya sighed. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

Missandei shook her head. “I’ve had water and food.”

Arya dropped her free hand on Missandei’s bed. She stopped just short of her leg. “Rest.”

“Will you stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised gently. Grinn’s voice under Arya’s control was deep and soothing.

“It’s been weeks since we sent word to Dany,” the wounded woman observed the guard posted by the opening flap of the tent. “She’ll be upset that we haven’t sent word that we’re okay.”

“One look at you and I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“I convinced you to come with me. Everything after is because I...because I wanted to end this, my way.”

“It was a good plan,” Missandei’s brows rose as she continued, “Or it would have been if we weren’t sidetracked.”

“You should be angry with me,” Arya pursed her lips.

“It won’t make me heal faster,” Missandei said. Her eyes were getting heavy. Her head lay back on the pillow. She settled to get as comfortable as possible, without releasing Arya’s hand.

Arya kept vigil over the sleeping woman until she felt her body sag a little lower. Her joints were sore. Her head throbbed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Removing her hand from Missandei’s grip she turned to the woman.

She walked to a sack that she recognized from the wagon. Sara had put her hand inside and offered her fruit. Arya grabbed one and bit into it. The guard stepped forward wordlessly as Arya chewed unfazed by her obvious irritation. Arya began smacking obnoxiously identifying that she was a right handed fighter who favored her left leg. It was a subtle limp that she most likely worked very hard to mask.

She stopped within arm’s length. “How many men have you killed?”

Arya’s good chewing teeth were working on her fourth bite. She swallowed. “I never counted.”

“How many women?”

“One.”

“How many children?”

“None.”  
“You don’t lie. I guess that’s nice.”

Arya felt like she’d just been subjected to another test that all the women in this community were in on. Missandei is still sound asleep. It’s just as well. The woman needed to rest up. It was only a matter of time before they wore out their welcome. She hadn’t heard anything else about the woman she stabbed in the throat. If she was dead the whole camp kept that information quiet.

“She’s yours?”

“Yes,” Arya said. She tossed the apple aside daring the woman to make a move to her slumbering companion.

“She was a slave and you saved her.”

Arya’s finger twitched. She was done entertaining whatever this was. She could do that without making a fuss and waking Misssandei.

“You’re rough around the edges. You can handle yourself. You protect those that you care about. You would do anything for her.”

“What of it?” Arya growled. Her irritation grew into anger.

“That’s important in a man. That’s something a son should inherit,” her hands tugged at Arya’s belt. Her lips were on Arya’s jaw as her hands slid to cup Arya’s borrowed manhood.

Arya was too stunned to move. Her body reacted to the touch. She felt a pressure in her trouser she’d never suspected she would feel. When teeth grazed her lower lip and hands insistently tugged on her clothing the northerner retreated. She held her hands up and kept her voice low.

“Magda!” Celeste hissed.

She stood at the opening with the flap covering half her shoulder. She strode in and ordered the woman named Magda to stand outside. Arya, still alert, waited for Celeste to finish speaking with the woman. They whispered back and forth harshly. 

Arya sucked in her lower lip and paced back forth. She glared at her lower extremities for having a mind of their own. She heard Celeste enter. She had bowls and herbs for Missandei. She made quick work of inspecting the wound. She gave the sleeping woman fresh bandages and a new green medicine she rubbed over the wound’s opening.

“She said...I think she wanted me to give her a son.”

“She lost two boys in the attack against our village.”

“When you’re robbed of what was taken from us...you can’t think the same. I wanted to kill you. Others wanted to eat you. Some of them want to breed you. Are you impudent?”

“I am spoken for.”

Celeste examined her handiwork. The hovering didn’t agree with her back and she breathed through her nose as she straightened up. “Your looks aren’t bad,” Celeste said. “You’re build is strong. You seem smart enough.”

Arya was reminded of Magda’s list. 

“There’s a handful of willing women who like your look,” she crossed her ankles. “If you were married, I might have been able to reason with them, appeal to their better nature. That was the one stipulation they could agree with. If you and she were married then they would find someone else.”

Her comments from earlier began to make more sense as well as the women staring at them. Missandei had observed correctly. They were sizing her up like a prized mare. Her thoughts shifted to the queen not that far whom she traveled this far south to kill. All her careful planning landed her in this den of crazed women. How had she been thrown so far off course?  
How? 

It was hard to think with her blood drumming in her ears. Her heart beat mercilessly. Celeste’s lazy moments didn’t come off overtly threatening. She was too close to Missandei for Arya’s comfort.

“I’ll watch over Missandei. No harm will come to her unnecessarily,” she promised. “Magda can escort you to the edge of our village. Sara will meet you there and I trust that you are fit to perform. You weren’t injured during the raid.”

Celeste wasn’t enthusiastic to be the messenger. “You don’t agree with this.”

“We all want what was taken from us. We’ve lost too much to fight over something as small as this.”

“This isn’t small to me,” Arya said. Arya thought of Sansa and her skill with words. What would Sansa do? What could Arya say? These women might have been reasonable before their families were killed. Not now. Not when they were trying to rebuild and reinvent themselves into harder and revenge hungry versions of their former selves. 

“That’s fair,” Celeste said. She began talking to Magda over Arya’s shoulder then gruffly addressed Arya again,. “She’ll take you to Sara.”


	14. Chapter 14

Magda told Arya to kneel. A cloth was wrapped around her eyes seconds later. After the cloth her hands were tied together. Magda used it as a leash and tugged Arya out of the tent. Arya’s senses sharpened the more the distance increased between her and Missandei. Leaves crunched under their impersonal boots. There were horses nearby and something sweet was in the air. She only heard Magda’s footsteps and her spitting. No one else. Did this group have that much confidence because they had their ‘healer’ hovering over Missandei? Or were there eyes on her now. Arya’s chin lifted. If not for the blindfold she would have eyed the trees suspiciously. 

“Hurry along,” Magda called back to her, punctuating her point with a tug.

Arya glared, increasing her stride. That advantage of transforming into Grinn was his long legs. However, that didn’t even begin to make up for the mess she’d waltzed into wearing his face. Sex had been covered in her training. It wasn’t frowned upon nor was it a tool for the Faceless Men to rely on as long as it resulted in a sacrifice to the Many Faced God. She could assume the height, the voice, the body of someone who was dead, but none of her training required or prepared her to perform in the bedroom as a man. 

The extent of the time she spent with her new appendage was as long as it took to urinate in the forest. These women were making demands she wasn’t sure she could follow through with.

“Here,” Magda stopped her with a hand on her chest.

Arya halted feeling a shift and sensing it stemmed from the new smells that advanced on them. Women. Words were exchanged. Arya felt like she was on display for these women and focused on pulling at the knots as subtly as she could. After a short silence she almost tripped over a rock when she was unceremoniously jerked forward. They were surrounded by trees anymore she was being led somewhere that settled. The manmade smells and the new sounds alerted her to that.

A door was opened. Arya was tugged again and led inside a warm room. The fire crackled and the heat was welcoming. As much she wanted to walk towards it she stood her ground, listening. Her head shifted from one side to the other when the door was closed.

“Would you like to keep the blindfold on?” Sara asked from somewhere in the room.

Arya’s muscles turned to stone. Her jaw set. She dropped her chin and the change in her mouth couldn’t be called a smile. 

“The way you women have been going about this...I didn’t think my comfort was a concern.” Arya responded.

There was tension on the leash now. Arya was being guided to the left. The fire was to her right now. As she assessed where she was in relation to the fire she collided with a hand. She stopped and that next time she was touched the blindfold was being lifted.

“It’s not,” Sara said gently. Her hands went to Arya’s belt. “You know none of this requires talking,” she withdrew it from it’s loops. The material sagged. A gentle tug would send the material to Arya’s ankles.

“You’re not an ugly group of women,” Arya said, she pulled at the knot again. “I’m sure there are plenty of men around who would jump at a chance to have a village of women to themselves.”

“I’m sure Celeste was very vocal about what this is and what this isn’t. It’s funny, if not for your sweet Missandei, we would have written you off as just another palace guard. Ruthless. Unfeeling. Selfish. Cruel.”

“Aye, there’s a side of me that matches all of them.”

“Does Missandei know those parts?”

“She knows me,” Arya inching away from the woman who had begun to lean in.

Sara tugged on the rope. “But you wouldn’t hurt her. Your instincts to protect her are...well they aren’t common around here.”

Arya planted her feet. Sara continued to try to move her. When she grew frustrated she slapped Arya with an open palm. It surprised the Northerner, but on the outside she took the pain in stride. 

“You’re an idiot in a village of idiots.”

Sara struck her again. Arya’s skin was being pulled, but she could feel the rope responding to her. She needed time.

“You want a village of bastards to take care of you? Having men around once didn’t keep you safe. It looks like you’re doing quite well on your own.”

Sara attacked Arya’s trousers. Her eyes darkened with need. Her fingers grazed the tip of Arya’s erection. Sara stroked the length of it before she squeezed gently. She hummed to herself. She sucked in her lower lip and studied Grinn’s stoic expression with amusement.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that look. You sound so devoted and I’d almost believe you with your clothes on.”

Arya’s mouth parted. Her feet didn’t feel as stable. Her heels lifted from the ground as he leaned into Sara’s teasing. A sound erupted from the back of her throat, it made Sara laugh. The woman continued her slow strokes as she lifted up to bite Arya’s lower lip. 

“You’re all the same,” Sara whispered after she sank her teeth into Arya’s lip. 

She didn’t draw blood, but it sent a shot of adrenaline through Arya. Her hands were still tied together when they slammed into Sara’s throat. Her eyes bulged and her mouth opened to gasp for air when she fell to the ground. Arya dropped her knee on the woman’s chest stopping the greedy gasps for air.

*

Arya knew Missandie had special powers of persuasion. Her grace and her gentle demeanor was an unassuming tool that coaxed people to trust her. The Northerner guessed it was that skill to convince people to trust her that kept her alive for so long, besides her resilience. Arya respected that and in part envied the ease with which Missandei could build relationships. It was that skill Arya attributed to her rescue.

Celeste had come in when Arya knocked the woman unconscious. She held her hands up in surrender when Arya began closing the distance between them. She said Missandei’s name and mentioned a horse and some food at the edge of the forest. Celeste also mentioned a deal that she brokered with Missandei and suggested that Arya hurry if she wanted her freedom. 

As much as Arya wanted to run she stopped long enough to study Celeste. The older woman with her tired eyes looked even tired as she had probably resigned herself to an unfortunate future by letting them go.

“You have a good heart,” Celeste said.

Arya blinked.

“I trust that,” she mumbled to herself as her eyes were drawn to Sara sprawled on the ground. “Go,” she said.

It was a needless order, by the time she turned to repeat it, Arya was gone.

She ducked into the shadows. The houses still told the story of what the women had been through. There were some that were completely burned down. There were others that were slowly being rebuilt. Arya pressed up against walls and ducked behind barrels until she hit the edge of the village. From there she glared at each of the shadows before she moved purposefully, following the directions Celeste had given her.

Her heart was beating hard. Her chest hurt and her legs burned. She wanted to sprint to the edge. Instead, she bottled that urge to flee. She opted to take her time and study the trees as if they would transform into women with arrows. It took her longer than she would have liked to reach the road. She turned left then right almost tripping on the uneven ground searching for Missandei. 

“Arya.”

The Northerner crouched and squinted into the dark until she released a breath. Missandei was holding herself and wearing a heavy cloak over her body. Arya ran to her, closing her arms around her. 

“Careful,” Missandei whispered.

Arya winced. It was on her tongue to apologize when Missandei withdrew a portion of the cloak to reveal a sleeping baby in her arms.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting patiently for my updates. Now, that life is back on track and I can resume my regular schedule. Also, thank you for taking time to review and smashing the kudos. Please enjoy.

Arya glared at the baby, the shadows, and softened her gaze to a wounded Missandei. 

“Do you think you can make it?”

“We don’t have a choice,” Missandei hissed. “Where are we going to go?”

Arya nodded after she released a heavy sigh. Celeste had been so kind to release them in the dark. They couldn’t move fast and they wouldn’t make it far. On her own, escape would have been no trouble. And as much as Celeste and her group weren’t on her list of favorite people, she didn’t have time for them either. Too many unknowns, just too damn many.

“Arya?” Missandei asked. 

Arya put her hand on the small of her back as she guided Missandei off the road. 

“Where are we going?” Missandei had asked her. She saw something in Arya’s eyes that warranted concern.

“I don’t know,” she growled, feeling the burn of anger warming her chest. Arya pressed her palm to the taller woman’s face and told her in no uncertain terms that they needed to run. As much as they both would have liked to sprint in the opposite direction, Missandei was wounded and carrying a child. Several very good questions came to mind, however alarms of survival took precedence. 

Arya helped guide Missandei away from the road and into the woods away from the village of crazy women. They didn’t get as far as the Northerner would have liked. Missandei winced every few steps. During those short breaks she checked on the child slumbering with no context of danger.

“Stop,” Missandei gasped. “I need...I need to stop.”

Arya looked behind them waiting to see flames of torches and moving shadows on their scent. “We can’t.”

“I can’t.”

Arya grabbed her arm and pulled her along. She stopped in her tracks and spun around. She threw her head back and smirked.

“What is it?”

Arya smelled horses. “A chance.”

“Arya, please,” her companion struggled. She sagged to the left before she fell to one knee. Missandei leaned against a rock. The effort to hold the baby and stay upright was draining her. They both ended up huddled together. Nature’s nocturnal soundtrack played in the background.

“Can you hold him?” asked Missandei.

Arya didn’t reach for the child immediately. The curly haired woman leaned forward as much as her wound would allow until Arya met her half way. 

“You’ll hurt yourself,” Arya scowled. She took the baby in her arms. 

Once the boy was in Arya’s arms Missandei collapsed against the rock again. They could barely see where they were going. They didn’t know where they were headed. Arya’s paranoia rose higher now that they were stationary. Holding a mysterious child didn’t help.

“Where did this come from?”

“I wanted a souvenir,” Missandei murmured smartly.

Arya moved even closer to her so their shoulders touched. “Don’t you dare do something selfish and die on me.”

Missandei’s head landed on Arya’s shoulder. She hummed her response, “I never thought I’d die like this.”

“Shut up if that’s all you have to offer.”

“Listen, if I had to die...this isn’t so bad. I trust you. I love you. I’d rather...I’d rather be here with you, in the dark, than ….” Missandei slumped. “Oh...I’m so... tired.”

Arya’s free hand went to the translator’s face. “Open your eyes,” Arya pleaded futilely. Missandei was breathing and unconscious and Arya was at risk of losing her. “Okay,” she repeated to herself. As she rose to her feet she let Missandei’s body slide to the ground gently while keeping a protective arm around the baby. “I’ll come back,” Arya whispered her promise.

She held the baby close as she opened her stride in the direction of where she could now hear the horses. When she got close enough, which was the edge of a small clearing she could see two men talking amongst themselves. The bits and pieces of conversation she heard didn’t trigger interest. The fact that they were minimally armed did. There were no swords on their hips. Still, they wouldn’t give up their animals easily. 

Arya felt her face spread out into a grin. She didn’t mind a challenge.

Their names were Novo and Gowther. They were brothers that shared a father and different mothers. Gowther was the oldest with the sturdier build. He picked up Missandei when Arya led them to her. Novo was more curious. He didn’t have his brother’s height, but he more than made up for it with width.

They were an hour and half away from home. They had just returned from helping out an uncle with his farm. Their mother greeted them with open arms in an oversized blanket. She held up a short candle. She raised it so close to their faces, Arya thought she’d burn them during inspection.

“Do you know what to do with that?” she asked when Missandei was settled into a bed. 

Arya was sitting on a bench by a fresh fire. She rocked back and forth with the whining baby and stopped when Novo’s mother questioned her.

Wide hips took up most of Arya’s vision. She shrugged never having held a baby before this if she could recall.

“Give him here,” the older woman grabbed the babe and tended to him in the way that only someone with experience could. She pulled down her top and let the baby suckle from her breast. “I buried my third child three days ago. My body doesn’t know the difference. I might as well put this milk to some use.”

“I’m sorry.” Arya didn’t fight her. In fact, she took the opportunity to sag and stretch and repeat those movements before she stood again.

She looked out the window where the brothers disappeared with the horses. They had beds elsewhere, but this was the house where Missandei would be staying and so would Arya.  
“The boys tell me you got caught up with those women. They shot your wife.”

Arya still wore Grinn’s face. She didn’t correct her about Missandei. 

“It’s a shame what happened to them. It’s even worse what they’ve become to survive. I don’t know what I would do if anyone took my boys,” she hummed.

Arya lifted her chin. The baby was suckling greedily. “Thank you, for helping us. In these times it’s hard to give and receive help. People aren’t what they seem anymore.”

The woman nursing the baby didn’t seem to be listening anymore. Arya was fine with that. She informed the woman she was going to go and check in on Missandei. The other woman responded by humming to the hungry baby. The wood under Arya’s feet groaned. She looked at the slumbering woman and immediately felt guilty.

Nothing had gone as planned. Of course, she laughed humorously at their predicament. She could hear Daenerys' disapproving voice. Arya reached for Missandei’s hand for selfish comfort.

*

Missandei learned early on in life to enjoy the small pleasures like breathing, a kiss from the sun, winking stars, and trust. Her life had begun as a nightmare. Ripped from peace by men who took without remorse and robbed without ever feeling they’d taken enough. Greedy men and women are the only kind that she’d ever known. They were ugly and unfulfilled by the small joys that Missandei knew mattered more than riches, silks, and the number of slaves someone has. 

“You’re up and about?” Novo said happily. He was more expressive than his brother and if his mother wasn’t doting on their small cargo he’d be in front of the baby making faces. 

Missandei offered a cautious smile. 

“If you’re looking for your man, he’s with Gowther. A wild boar has been causing some trouble. You’ve got a man that likes to make himself useful.”

Missandei nodded. Arya never liked to sit still. There was always an adventure. The translator never considered that she would be joining her on this one. Considering how bloody it had started, this part of the adventure appealed to her the most. The domesticity of it all filled her with a warmness that settled in her chest. It was safe to call it happiness. The baby helped. Of course, there was the lie that Missandei had told for the sake of less questions.

The brothers and their mother hadn’t judged them when Missandei said she wasn’t the mother. The child belonged to her husband and a woman he laid with when he was away. Novo had looked forlornly during the telling. Gowther had been indifferent. Their mother, Helene, rushed to a new subject while the baby suckled at her tit. 

The baby had yet to be named. Though Missandei considered several names that she tested with Arya, who seemed less than enthused about the exercise. During the days when Missandei regained her strength with short walks, usually Arya would join her. However, today, Arya was preoccupied with a boar. 

Two hours later Gowther and Arya as Grinn returned proudly dragging the carcass of their prey behind them. When Arya was cleaning up for dinner after Helene howled that neither one of them would set foot in her house, Missandei followed. Her pace was sedate. She found Arya shirtless and crouched over a small creek south of the house.

“I love it here,” she said to announce herself.

Arya craned her neck. She didn’t seem surprised to see her. “It’s peaceful and boring.”

“You just killed something,” Missandei teased. “I’d thought you’d be in a better mood.”

Arya shrugged. “A dead boar will never be as satisfying as watching Cersei gasp her last breath. I want to win the war.”

“Even if it isn’t your blade that stops Cersei’s heart, Daenerys will still want you.”

“Before I left I said I’d end this war for her.”

“And you’ve been taking care of me instead,” Missandei finishes guiltily.

Arya sighed. She hadn’t meant to make the other woman feel like a burden. The way her chin dropped it seemed that it happened anyway. “We’re not as far along as I’d hope we’d be by now.”  
“Lets not forget you’ve gained a wife and child out of this adventure,” this was said with a smile.

Arya stood. Missandei advanced. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you.”

The curly haired woman only shrugged.

“I don’t mind,” Arya admitted. “If I had to have a wife and that wife was you...I don’t mind.”

Missandei ducked causing a curl to fall into her face. Arya’s fingers twitched to move it. Instead she straightened her back and looked at the water running over pebbles and sticks.

“Are you ever going to talk about it?”

“What?” asked Arya without looking at her.

“About the women at the village. About what almost happened?”

Arya chuckled. “At some level, I suppose there’s no greater flattery than a village of women wanting to bear my children.”

“If I had to bear someone’s child and you were the one I had to lay with...I wouldn’t mind.” Missandei reached for her hand becoming serious. “Speaking of children…”

Arya’s mouth flattened. “He’s not ours to name.”

The Northerner heard Celeste’s observation about her heart in her head. A good heart did not make her a good anything for a child. Missandei was kinder and better suited for the role of a parent, at least Celeste hadn’t been totally off the mark when she asked her to take the baby. The mother died in childbirth, she’d been pregnant while the men in their village were slaughtered. The mother asked Celeste to make sure he didn’t become a fighter. 

When Arya scowled when she heard the dying mother’s wish. She understood why Celeste, who didn’t seem to believe in Arya’s rape, would want to liberate the child from the village who would raise him as a tool.

Missandei tried again, “He’s ours.”

“Not if he doesn’t have a name,” Arya disagreed.

“Then stop being stubborn and help me give him one.”

“I have one queen to kill and one to convince to spend the rest of her life with me. I see no room to raise a child with you.”

“I’ve always been close to death. I don’t know a life without it. A life with Daenerys, I wouldn’t be free without her. I’ll forever be grateful for that, but a child...I don’t know a purer representation of life. I held him and I knew he’d be mine.”

Late night confessions about love and children came to mind for Arya. Missandei staring hopefully at a black horizon as her voice lifted at the prospect. Though in her heart she knew that it would never be, at least not in the world she lived in. Not with Daenerys Targaryen still needing to conquer and kill for her throne.

“This looks good on you. This life we’ve carved out while you heal.” Arya tilted her head.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Missandei shared as a smile bloomed. A smile that Arya couldn’t help but scowl at.

“Take it back.”

Missandei shook her head. “Never.”

“Take it back or I’ll make you take it back.”

“Do your worst, but I don’t think you can top an arrow.”

Arya blamed playful instincts and Missandei’s narrow waist. Her arms closed around her gently. She was gentle when she pulled her in. She was gentle when she dropped her head to Missandei’s forehead after the older woman gasped her name. She would have been just as gentle kissing her on her lips. The thought flickered in her head as her eyes dropped to the soft plump mouth. She deduced the danger in just the thought of kissing Missandei and decided to press her lips to Missandei’s forehead instead.


	16. Chapter 16

The restless queen can’t hide in the skies forever. When Daenerys comes down she has to face the fact that she put too much faith in Arya. It’s been weeks since they last heard from either her or Missandei. Her heart hardened to think of the loss of both of them. She struggled with hating Arya for taking Missandei from the safety of their camp. She struggled and failed to withhold it when her name came up in conversation. Sansa and Jon still had faith in their sister, Sansa more than Jon, who had become melancholy as he too had silently lost confidence in his sister being alive.

It was a point of contention for the siblings adding to more tensions that no one could ignore anymore. Wounded soldiers had healed enough to travel South. Her Unsullied were becoming restless. Her Dothrahki were always restless and becoming more harsh so as not to become lethargic as her council deliberated.

The meeting she barely said a word. The same conversations lead to the same argument and she felt the heat of anger because of their indecision, her indecision as well. The part of her that wanted to believe in Arya’s declaration to end this war for her, was slowly being usurped by the part that wanted more control. Control.

“Do you think there’s a place for Cersei to view King’s Landing. And if so, what does she contemplate?”

Sansa turned her head slightly when her eyes grazed Daenerys, who joined her on the wall. “That’s not the best place for anyone to venture.”

“I can imagine.”

“Can you?” Sansa responded darkly. Her conversations with Cersei hadn’t been conversations. Cersei played philosophical when she wasn’t overtly tormenting Sansa. Her ideas of the roles of men and women had turned into someone who hated the fairer sex. She hated herself. And the only redeeming thing about her was her love for her children, but even that was tainted.

“We know what it's like to be afraid for a good portion of our adult lives don’t we? As children, fear is acceptable. When you grow older there’s a notion that it goes away, or it should after you find out that there’s no such thing as ghosts or monsters. Well, some monsters.” She paused gazing at the warriors keeping warm by fires and drinking. “We’re never told to look at our inward demons...the ones that can really hurt us. There’s a scared girl still inside you underneath all that steel and intelligence. The same for Cersei.”

“Careful deliberating her humanity,” Sansa warned.

“I’m interested in her motivation.”

“Power,” Sansa said instantaneously without thinking. “She wants power. A woman’s power is between her legs and on her back.”

“Not all women.”

Sansa brow rises and falls as she studies Daenerys from her peripheral. “I agree.”

Daenerys took a chance. “We can do that more often, agree on things.”

“We could. We can, but at what cost?”

“You want the North to be free. I want Westeros to be under a ruler, who wants only the best for them.”

“How can you decide that? Through the extensive knowledge of Westeros from your advisors?”

“You don’t have faith in the people I’ve chosen. You don’t have faith in your brother?”

“I don’t think that you should be so quick to fix a problem that you don’t fully understand. If that is your motive at all.”

“I want to help.”

“Have you listened?” Sansa shrugged her furs as she focused her gaze on a fire burning higher than the rest. “Do you hear the people and do their wants matters to you? Or do your demons prevent you from seeing beyond that little girl inside you, who refuses to be weak.”

“You think I’m overcompensating?”

“I think that if you mobilize an army of thousands there’s a good chance you’re overcompensating for something.”

“Is it any different than feeding your husband to his dogs?”

Sansa's mouth lifted at the memory. 

Daenerys ended her sister’s thoughts. “I wanted Arya to succeed. Too much time has passed for me to wait any longer.” She sighed. “You’ve given me nothing that I wouldn’t have already assumed about Cersei. I had hoped that there was something...by the end of the week I want to ready the Soldiers.”

“Arya…”

“Might be dead, dying, or she switched her loyalties,” Daenerys said harshly. She let her insecurities seep into her voice. She sounded shrill and upset. “I didn’t mean that,” she rushed out before Sansa could defend her sister. “I didn’t mean that I’m just…”

“Worried,” Sansa said in understanding.

“She would want us to continue,” Daenerys said. “There’s too much at stake.”

Sansa shook her head. “She told me what she went through. Arya told me how she became...the way she is. She frightens me. I don’t see the annoying little sister anymore. I see...I see someone who fights for what she believes in at all costs. Maybe she is dead, but I’ve been wrong before.”

“I won’t let my Army get complacent because of hope or maybe. I wanted this to be finished. I wanted it to be her,” she said.

“Not Jon?”

Daenerys didn’t react to Sansa’s deliberate question. Had Arya told her sister about them? Arya had been shy about her family. When she did share bits and pieces of her life she mentioned a sister. Arya was never pretty enough. She was never dainty and her nails were always dirty. She was excited over war when she should have been interested in her wardrobe. The foundation of her never being enough began and ended with Sansa, the perfect daughter. 

Upon reflection the shorter woman couldn’t recall any pain in Arya’s voice. It was more of a study of what she could have been if not for her interest in adventure, swords, and later revenge. 

“I know how much killing Cersei means to Arya," said Daenerys finally.


	17. Chapter 17

“Toliver?”

Now Missandei was just throwing out names to get a reaction out of Arya. Novo played along identifying the best and worst parts of each name. The more somber brother sat quietly by the fire never looking at the duo across from him. The only sign that he was listening were the expressions that mirrored Arya’s horror at each name.

“You could always name him Novo,” said the man with the same name. He’d taken up holding the child in his arms.

Missandei forced Arya between her legs and shared a blanket. Underneath the cloth she trailed her fingers over the exposed skin under her shirt. The sharp nail startled her at first. She tilted her chin up to perhaps read the older woman. Missandei didn’t bother to look down. Arya guessed she was actively avoiding her eyes, which made the Northerner even more conscious of other exploratory fingers. 

When she rested her chin on Arya’s head every giggle sent a shock of warmth through her. She didn’t know what to make of the feeling. She didn’t know what to do with the feeling bubbling inside of her. She recognized it as the giddiness of a crush. And as nice as it felt, Arya oscillated between guilt and joy. 

Missandei gave herself freely. It was an ultimate sign of trust Arya didn’t want to lose. 

“Wonderful name,” Missandei clapped underneath the blanket.

Gowther wasn’t as impressed and for the first time that night he became vocal about how horrible a name that would be for a child.

“Your father gave me this name,” Novo said.

Gowther grunted and returned his attention to the fire. He threw wood in it unnecessarily to punctuate that point.

“What do you think, A...Grinn,” Missandei stumbled on the name. Neither man seemed to notice and Arya leaned back into the woman on the chair as a sign that the slip was forgiven.

Arya shook her head declining to answer.

Novo’s adoring eyes darkened as she glared at Missandei’s husband. “I don’t understand you.” He looked up at the curly haired woman. “A babe has no name for this long, I say it’s bad luck.”

“We’re all born with bad luck,” Arya said automatically. Missandei pinched Arya who jumped at the assault. “You disagree?” she asked rubbing the sore spot underneath the blanket before Missandei claimed the hand for herself.

“I think life is beautiful.”

Arya’s face wrinkled. “Really?” She shifted to turn towards the woman. “How?”

“Look at where we are, compared to where we could be.” She held Arya’s gaze waiting for her words to sink in. A second passed turning into an entire minute where Arya decided not to dampen the mood that obviously made the other woman feel light.

The interaction made Novo grin. His commentary was meant for the baby, but he spoke loud enough for everyone else to hear. “Little lad, beware the powers of a beautiful woman. The fastest man can’t outrun it. The strongest man will never be strong enough. The man with the head of stone, like your father, is no match. I can see the cracks from here. That is love Little lad and there’s nothing stronger.”

“Bad poetry won’t put that babe to sleep,” Gowther growled, throwing another log into the fire.

“Little lad, Uncle Gowther would hit a woman across the head, put her over his shoulder, and call it romance. I have a feeling your mother inspired something more subtle. What did you say, Little lad? You want a bedtime story? You want to know how your parents met?” Novo raised both his brows to the Northerner. “Come along daddy or you’ll make me think the man who can hunt a boar can’t handle a baby.” Novo’s tone was light, but he expected to be relieved of the baby soon.

Arya looked to Missandei to save her. The woman didn’t hide her intrigue. She sounded quite encouraging when she said, “I’d like to hear about how we met as well.”

“It’s not a bedtime story,” Arya tried to get out of it.

“Just clean up the nasty bits,” Novo helped. “We wouldn’t want to scare Little lad.”

Missandei gathered up the blanket into her lap when she nudged Arya’s shoulder. Begrudgingly the Northerner stood, but not without delivering a scowl to the smirking woman. A few days after they’d arrived Missandei’s face broke out into an amused look. It came so frequently nowadays it was becoming contagious. Arya didn’t mind if being put on the spot was another reason the other woman smiled.

The closer she got to the baby the more she grew nervous. It showed, but Novo wouldn’t be denied and Missandei wore that expression of patience and faith. She hated that look for the way it made her feel. Arya had never been graceful until Syrio taught her the water dance. She’d never realized her full potential to everything she wanted until she became a Faceless Man. She’d never thought there was a cause that rivalled her revenge until she met Daenerys and listened to her goal to be a great leader. She’d never thought holding a baby would make her feel as warm if not more than Missandei’s kindness.

“A bedtime story,” she said to buy herself some time. 

A memory of Ned Stark. The man was quiet and he reserved his vocal moments for praise, wisdom, and love. Nothing about the man was malicious. When he did tell a story about his youth, it didn’t make Arya salivate like the gory tales from men eager to validate their worth. Her father turned something uncivilized into a lesson or patience while enunciating the sin of pride and the confidence in duty.

She thought of what her father had said about her mother when they first met. There was no love between them. Then over time it blossomed into a truth that neither Ned or Catelyn could have dreamed. 

“Little lad,” she borrowed Novo’s name for the baby. “Life is ugly. There are monsters that look like friends and friends that look like monsters. Time will decide the difference. Then there are people like Missandei,” she paused before she gave herself permission to live in this fantasy. “Your mother, who has been marked by the world in the best and worst ways a person can be marked. From the moment I heard her laugh, I knew that she was someone I needed to know. She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. She was a star in the dark….”

The tale was simple, poignant, something her father might have said to her as a baby in his arms. He spent a lot of her childhood warning her as he accepted her gently even though her nature was wild. He loved her up until the day the monsters with the fancy dresses and wide smiles murdered him in front of a crowd of sheep.

It was the world’s loss. Not that one death really concerned the world. So Arya felt it. Her heart was breaking. She thought she heard the crack and looked up self consciously to make sure no one else did. Missandei stood in front of her. A hand came up to her face and wiped away tears from Arya’s face. The wetness startled her. The softness of Missandei’s touch was welcomed.  
“Ned,” Arya croaked the pain and love associated with her father’s name mixed.

Missandei’s eyes watered, “Ned,” she repeated lovingly. She clasped Arya’s face in her hands and brought her to her forehead.

Novo and Gowther were gone when they released each other. In a few seconds their mother had come to relieve them of a fussing baby for feeding. Arya thought back to the river. They’d been just as close and sharing a meaningful silence, too afraid to dissect it. She stepped forward tilting her head. It would have been so easy to duck into a kiss that she knew, on instinct, Missandei would welcome.

“You’ve got a queen to kill,” Missandei said as she held herself. Her chin dropped but her eyes remained open and forward.

Arya stuttered at the mood change. “I don’t want to talk about Cersei.”

“You’ve got a queen to please.”

Arya used both hands to claim her hips. Missandei gasped. “She isn’t standing here making me feel...this way.”

Missandei’s hands reach up to Arya’s shoulders. Grinn is broad, muscled, and smells distinctly of Arya. If she closed her eyes she could picture the brown eyes burning into her. “Arya don’t...beware of declarations you can’t take back. They lead down a path I will follow. Do you want to ruin me?”

“I’d only be returning the favor.”

“Fool.”

“Be that as it may, I am a mirror of your wants and desires.”

“Dany…”

“Isn’t here,” Arya huffed. “Where were these instincts of self preservation before I named our baby?”

“Our baby?” Missandei repeated. “You want him?”

“I gave him my father’s name. I thought that was fairly obvious,” Arya said wearing a rough mask that didn’t fool Missandei. “Celeste entrusted him to us. I haven’t done much to live up to my father’s principles, but I can do this. I think you’d make a wonderful mother.”

Missandei struggled for words. She remembered the warmth of a fire. The warmth of a feeling that went beyond laughing at Arya’s jokes in Essos. They grew close, too close for Daenerys’ liking. Her queen claimed Arya, who Missandei agreed would have been a fool to deny her. She’d also be lying if she said that she was disappointed in Arya’s willingness to submit to Dany.

As much as she wanted to trust Arya. As much as she wanted to give in to whatever this was she pulled away. It pained her to see the look of confusion greet her when she finally looked up.

“You chose her,” Missandei said, causing Arya to frown. Missandei helped her. “Dany, she’s the one you chose, that night.”

“You lied to her,” Arya glared. “It was more important to be in her good graces than to admit you had feelings for me. You handed me to her on a platter. Or did you want to test me.”

“I don’t believe in games.”

“You have a funny way about you, Missandei, a funny way. You pull me in and then you push as if I’m not standing here willing to dive in with you.”

“I would love to think that you are sincere. Except, there is the fact that you promised to end the war for another woman. I can’t compete with a woman who incites that passion.”

“You’re very wrong.”

She was right, it wasn’t that long ago where she declared she’d end a war for Daenerys. Even under that declaration something was brewing, a hunger. Something grew inside her she couldn’t name until the very moment she wanted she thought of family.

“You keep everything so bottled up. You remind me of a skittish cat,” Arya’s hand cupped Missandei’s cheek. “They’re agile, distrustful, and I’m not afraid of getting scratched. But it’s not fair when you lure me in like you do. It’s not fair that you act as if I don’t bruise and bleed from your indecisive choices. I’m the one that fell for the Dragon Queen, yes, only after you claimed your only interest in me was friendship.”

“What is so wrong with being friends?”

“It’s not right when you force it on the one from whom you want more.”

“I don’t...I never…”

“You can’t even put it into words,” Arya chuckled darkly. “It frightens you that much that you remove yourself from being a choice for me.”

Missandei turned away. Her tears flowed freely. She felt naked enough, Arya didn’t need to see her like that.

Arya swallowed. “I have to kill Cersei. I have to leave, tonight. By morning, I can make it to King’s Landing and be within the Red Keep. I’ve been cooking something up since you were injured. Obviously, I’ve been distracted.”


	18. Chapter 18

Celeste. Ned. Missandei. Novo. Gowther. Helene. 

Her mind has always been susceptible for making lists. Repeating the names of the people responsible for the pain in her family had only sharpened her ability to focus. An exercise that had served her well helped shape her into an effective killer. Now, as she walked through the streets of King’s Landing she tried to push the new names to the back of her mind. It was no good to think of them, not when what she had to do required deadly focus.

Ned. Missandei. They would be a family of misfits if Arya dared to carve a family out of the madness. Missandei would be a wonderful mother. Of course she was cautious in her own abilities, but Arya wasn’t sure if she would trust anyone to leap blindly into motherhood without reservation. At the least the curly haired woman acknowledged the fragile quality of a heart. That perspective alone made her kind and it caused Arya’s heart to speed up just thinking about her only little family.

She turned down a familiar alley. She pressed her back against the wall and clenched her fists as she breathed in and exhaled. Enough. She had a promise to keep and she didn’t even want to begin to think about the consequences of her and Missandei’s actions when they stood before Daenerys.

Voices. Guards. She shifted her focus to the opposite mouth of the alley. A few guards stood around joking. They were a carefree bunch considering the state of unrest in Westeros. Then again, not every second was shrouded in danger. Arya pushed off the wall. She closed in on the two soldiers and when she was upon them they greeted her with scowls until they got a good look.

“Stuff my cock! You’re alive.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed making Grinn’s face fold in confusion at the news. “Did you come by shit news that said otherwise?”

“We could only hope,” the second man answered darkly.

Grinn wasn’t a popular man Arya was beginning to discover. 

“You have the dragon bitch?”

Arya swallowed a growl. “No.”

“Then why’d you bother coming at all. The Hound isn’t going to be pleased.”

“I don’t come empty handed,” Arya corrected the first man. “What’s going on?” she nodded towards a group of soldiers who raided a nearby home. A family sat in the dirt and debris of their broken belongings.

“We’re on the hunt for agitators and spies. The queen has grown even more paranoid in her gold tower,” the second one glared at Grinn suspiciously. “Where are your men?”

“Dead.”

The suspicious look darkens.

“That must be an interesting tale. Share how the great Grinn was able to evade death and capture from a den of wolves.”

“It’s a shorter tale than you think,” Arya responded darkly.

*

A new face. Heavier armorer. A new grim countenance to maintain. It was all in a day's work. She blended in with the small squad of soldiers designated to this poor little corner to terrorize the inhabitants. She didn’t brag or join in. The only time she spoke was to excuse the absence of the soldier who had greeted Grinn the kindest. She said he was getting his cock wet. The squad was divided between annoyance and indifference. They all were unanimous that he could take care of himself.

As far as Arya could see it was busy work sending out small squads to bother the locals. Being alert wasn’t enough. It was easy to sleep walk in the simple duty of guarding. Even with the threat of Daenerys and her dragons nearby their climate of fear hadn’t truly made a home. They were relying on a large wall and their own ignorance. Arya knew just how ambitious Daenerys was. She was ready to step into a legacy she’d only been taught about. There were several conversations about family and death between them. The nature of those talks were sometimes dark and mostly introspective.

Those were the times where Daenerys needed her the most. Even those that fly above the world need to be reminded from time to time that they can be loved. She wanted to be wanted just as much Missandei and Ned and Arya. Yet, she couldn’t show that as freely as they could, not with a legacy to build and army to lead and dragons to ride. No one deserved to be that lonely for so long. Arya understood and sank into Dany’s weeping sex for the joy of shedding that lonely skin.

The squad went to their barracks. Arya separated from there to follow a familiar path that she walked as a warrior in training. Nothing had changed except for the atmosphere that had always been heavy and horrible. When Daenerys won and claimed the throne this would be her home. If Arya wanted to see her, touch her, fuck her then she’d have to come here because there was no way Daenerys would live anywhere else.

It seemed she entered King’s Landing; she couldn’t filter her mind from unproductive thoughts. She moved through the halls without a second glance until a Queen’s guard asked her her business so close to the Queen’s quarters. Arya thought about the lie that would roll off her tongue. She had news from a small group of soldiers sent to the North to kill the queen. Though it occurred to her that only a select few would have access to the queen with Daenerys and her army so close. 

A Queen’s Guard would do, she thought to herself as she listened for nearby footsteps.

*

Horses, boots, and wooden wheels disrupted the earth by flattening grass and pushing rocks further in the dirt. Their steps were purposeful and at the same time the cadences were different. The Unsullied were the most disciplined group of soldiers. They moved as a single unit and the pentameter of their march could be called soothing. The Dothrahki movements were disjointed and their movements could be likened to a heavy gait. The Northmen who had separated themselves at the back moved in uneven rows like the Dothrahki with heavier footfall from their bulkier bodies.

Daenerys rode in the front of her army. She was sandwiched between Jon and Grey Worm. Missandei’s absence was palpable. She’d sent a messenger up ahead to announce her willingness to end this amicably. There was no one better for the role than Tyrion Lannister, who had practically begged for the responsibility. He had been so sure his sister could be reasoned with and convinced to help them with the White Walkers. He had so much faith in his family.

She couldn’t share that faith not after Cersei left them to die in the North to warm her throne. It probably amused her as she sipped her wine from an ostentatious glass to think of them being ripped apart. She had probably prayed for their demise.

In an hour they would be right outside the gates waiting for the result of Tyrion’s negotiations. She didn’t have high expectations and part of her wondered why she even allowed him to go.

“It won’t be long,” Jon said.

She hummed her response as her eyes and head remain forward.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if we left with the same number of men we came with. It would be nice to march on the Red Keep without a single drop of blood,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Daenerys asked.

“A bloodless resolution.”

“You think a mother would yield so easily?” asked a very curious Daenerys who had yet to turn her head to speak.

“War is hard and long. I’ve seen too many needless deaths. I hope that for once this can be resolved without a sword.”

He shared his hopes with her. They were the hopes of a tired man who had killed many and seen just as many or more killed. A man like that feels responsible in every regard and she can see the toll of that responsibility. Does part of her feel the same? Does she want Tyrion to succeed? She should for the sake of her soldiers and her people. Yet, there wasn’t a scenario in her mind where she considered that blood wouldn’t be shed.

Was she expected to be merciful to Cersei and her council? A great leader is merciful. She couldn’t remember who told her or if she’d read it somewhere. She considered her acts of mercy up until now. She freed slaves after ripping their masters of their authority like a babe is ripped from a mother’s tit. No wonder they wailed and hollered. She gave them a measure of mercy.

In the tomb where Arya’s family were buried she remembered asking the assassin did she think Cersei could be reasoned with. Arya laughed and claimed that she would be the one to end the war. Now, she was letting Tyrion have his way. She listened to Jon sitting in his somber hope. And Missandei was somewhere else instead of where she belonged, by her side.

“We all want peace,” Daenerys heard herself say. “Some of us want that peace more than others.”

“What do you want, your grace?”

“I want to go home.”


	19. Chapter 19

Patience. Arya’s teachers had always had trouble settling her down. It wasn’t until she lost her father that she became serious about mastering the art of patience. A young girl can’t live on her anger, not if she wants to successfully take down her enemies. An impatient girl wouldn’t be able to watch the family responsible for her family’s pain sit around a table of fruits, meats, cheese, and bread. 

Four hours ago she had watched a family thrown into the street. Their possessions, their pride, and their peace were trampled on at the pleasure of the guards and their queen. A young girl with no patience and big eyes couldn’t watch Tyrion, Cersei, and Jaime negotiate. She would have slit their throats first or at least tried. The impatient girl was clumsy. She didn’t think too many things through.

The woman she’d become surpassed the child. So she could watch and listen.  
*

“Have you come to surrender on behalf of your false queen?” Cersei asked, popping a grape in her mouth.

Tyrion sucked in a breath and exhaled as she studied his brother.

“Daenerys’ army defeated the White Walkers. She has the Northmen in her ranks alongside the Unsullied and Dothrahki. They’ll be camped outside these very wells soon. I recommend for the sake of your child that you concede.”

“I could have you killed right here.”

“And if my death would send the whole of her army running then I would suggest you do that. It’s a bad play, dear sister.”

“No worse than you walking into the Red Keep with the presumption that I would allow you to walk out.”

“Cersei,” Jaime warned. She cut her eyes at her brother and lover. He sat back in his chair glaring back. “Think of our child. We’ve already lost too much.”

“I won’t give up everything for a false queen,” she seethed.

Jaime reached for her hand. “If you were to look at it a different way...we’d have everything to gain.”

“I think our views are grossly unaligned in this Jaime. We’ve shared so much. I’d rather not share a public execution.”

“I meant we could start over somewhere new.”

“What?” She withdrew her hand. A sharp gaze landed on Tyrion as if he was to blame for Jaime’s suggestion to flee. “Are you mad? Leave King’s Landing after everything we’ve sacrificed to get here.”

“If this were an army without dragons I would play by your rules,” Jaime ducked his head to grab her attention. “If it were any other army, I know we could win. They aren’t playing by the rules, Cersei.”

“I won’t run.”

“You’re being unreasonable in a reasonable situation.”

“It’s only reasonable on your side of the table, Tyrion. You’re a murderer. You’re a traitor. Both of you. If father were here… I’m glad he died before he could see what his family has come to.”

“Daenerys and her council expect me to return tonight. I can tell them that they’ll have your answer in the morning. You and Jaime can use that time to hop on the next boat and disappear in Essos. It’s quite easy.”

“Speaking from experience,” Cersei growled.

“I’m trying to save your life. Despite our differences I’d rather not see you meet an untimely end.”

“You don’t think I deserve it?”

“I killed our father because I thought he deserved it. It didn’t make me feel better about the lies or the cruelty or the objectionable treatment I received since childhood. There are things more important than revenge. Who am I to tell you what you do and do not deserve. Let me help you.”

Cersei picked herself up and removed herself from her brothers. “How dare you. I don’t need your help. Tyrion, I’d rather die.”

“With that attitude you shall,” the smaller man said gently.

“Not with our child in your stomach. Not when we have this window of opportunity,” Jaime followed her. He grabbed her hand and crushed it against his lips. “Aren’t you tired of all this?” Jaime reached up to hold her face in his hand.

“I’m….I can’t.”

“You can because I’ll be right there beside you. We can be together. That’s what we both want isn’t it?”

Tyrion looked away swallowing a goblet of wine and refilling it as he left it up to his brother to convince Cersei. Their voices had gone quiet. He chose to study the food, the room, and the Mountain who hadn’t moved when he first suggested Cersei flee. There would be no place for him at her side. Was he the good soldier to give himself up so easily? He was more of a monster than a man if the rumors were true. Would this monster concede if Cersei could be persuaded to run?

There wasn’t any one man that he could see pitted against the Mountain and win. The Unsullied soldiers were lean, strong and their technique would be team work. He could see the beast falling under their spears. Or perhaps he’d have to be taken down by Daenerys herself atop her dragon. He hoped he wouldn’t be around if that was the case. He didn’t think that he could stomach watching someone being burned alive. He still had nightmares about Lord Varys. He could still smell his charred remains.  
While he thought of death Cersei stood by the wall with Jaime whispering in her ear. He had this grand life in his head. It was easy to picture it and the way he described it impressed upon her that this wasn’t an impromptu plea. Their child would be raised by both loving parents in an unassuming home by the sea. Jaime would fish and hunt. Cersei would learn to cook. They would laugh, cry, rage, and love for the remainder of their lives. It was almost peaceful the way he described.

Ten minutes of Jaime’s passionate pleas and Cersei’s objecting for the sake of objection eventually ended.

Her brothers were getting exactly what they wanted. Tyrion would be the hero and live out the rest of his days as Daenerys Targaryen’s respected Hand. Her brother would be relieved of the responsibility of his name and he’d have his family. She….she would have her memories of once wearing the crown and sitting on the Iron Throne.


	20. Chapter 20

No. Not yet. No. Cersei’s eyes dried and in the next second they studied her brother lover coldly. “Is this what you choose?”

They were out of options. He struggled to figure out a way to persuade her to see reason. She wasn't thinking. This was too much for her to accept so she held onto her anger. There was no reasoning with her in a rage, but he had to try. That meant he had to meet her rage with its opposite, love. It came to him easier than her. She had a lot to be angry for, which made it easy to forgive her.

“I choose us.”

Her face darkened. “You choose a dream that I can’t live up to.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Cersei’s jaw clenched. Her head tilted with an expression she reserved for the many, never for him not until recently.

“I’m not the only one dreaming Cersei. You won’t win this battle with a bottle and wit.”

Tyrion spoke up, “That depends on the battle.”

“You’re not helping,” Jaime yelled over his shoulder.

“I’ve come up with my best ideas when I drowned my doubt with a bottle. A woman’s life is shrouded in doubt. So much so the mind repeats a ferocious vain mantra. The thing about vanity is..it leaves little room to consider the beauty of brutality.”

“Where’s your sense of self preservation?”

“If you have to ask that you haven’t been paying attention.”

“She’s not listening. You’ll have to drag her out of here to save her.”

“Pick him up,” Cersei ordered.

The Mountain, who’d shown no visible signs of life, closed the distance between him and Tyrion in five large strides. He picked up the smaller by his hair and let him dangle.

“Cersei, stop!” Jaime pulled out his sword to save his brother.

She raised a single finger adorned with a ruby ring to her cheek. “Drag him across the table.”

Jaime’s mouth flapped open as Tyrion was slammed on the face first. Without losing his grip the Mountain turned him and made sure to slam Tyrion’s body in the food that would stain. By the end of the table Cersei ordered the smaller man to be released.

He landed on the floor at the feet of a silent King’s Guard soldier. When he looked up the guard regarded him coldly. He missed his sister’s self-satisfied smirk.

“Are you quite finished?”

“Not even after my body is cold.”

Jaime blinked. “I’m not leaving without you. I won’t do that again.”

“The Red Keep is mine. It’s always been destined to be mine.”

*

The Lannister siblings were a strange breed. After the imp went down. Arya dismissed herself from the chambers. She didn’t know how much time had passed when an agitated Cersei stomped into her room. 

Arya watched her for an hour after Cersei left Ser Gregor standing outside of her chambers. She’d found a nook near the balcony and Cersei going about her life so carefree in the breast of the Red Keep was none the wiser. She could kill her now. She wouldn’t have time to scream. Then again if she couldn’t scream then she couldn’t see. There was no point if she didn’t know who had come for her. The taste of revenge would be bitter. Arya couldn’t have that.

Arya looked at the haphazardly packed bag. Cersei was in the middle of making that decision. How many times had she gone through it in her head. What scenarios had gone through her mind to initiate the packing. They were strong for a moment. Not strong enough to tear her away from her wine.

Her body went limp after fifteen minutes. She’d taken the herbs from the royal maester and put them in Cersei’s bottle. The woman really did think she was safe. It was the same for Walder Frey and his sons. Hell, his whole family were oblivious.

Arya crossed the threshold from the balcony to the door and secured it. Next she circled the queen slumped on her table. Arya sat across from her still wearing the King’s Guard’s face. It pleased her to see the look of confusion on her victim’s faces. Shock, awe, fear, then understanding as she looked down on them. Their deaths had been ordained the moment they laid a hand on her brothers, her mother, and her father.

*

Cersei twitched in her sleep. Her leg jumped and she used the table to catch herself as if she’d woken up from a dream from which she was falling. Her hands went slowly to her head. She held it.

“Are you well, your grace?” a concerned voice came from a stern looking King’s Guard she recognized. “Ser Jaime told me to stay behind,” Arya added.

“My brother asked to...he sent you to help pack?” she scoffed. “If you go near my things, I'll have Ser Gregor facilitate your relocation to the afterlife.”

“Ser Gregor has been dispatched, your grace.”

Wide eyed Cersei glared up at the guard. There was something off about him but upon closer inspection it was easy to blame the blood on his uniform. “You...you defeated Ser Gregor? I don’t believe you.”

“This isn’t his blood, your grace. It belongs to the Targaryen whores savages.”

“She’s here? She’s inside the Red Keep?” Cersei asked, holding her head from the pain of raising her own voice.

“They defeated Ser Gregor,” Arya continued to weave her lie. “He killed twenty of those savages before his own brother cut him down. The dragon bitch watched.”

“It sounds like you did too. And they let you just walk away?”

“Ser Jaime was there. He had his hand on my shoulder before I could move.”

This seemed to satisfy the woman who had opted to close her eyes as she held her head. “How could they get inside?”

“The imp. I was ordered by Ser Jaime to keep you safe. He and your brother are trying to reason with her.”

“I slept through a battle?”

“To be honest it wasn’t much of a battle. They slaughtered us. We lost many good men.”

Cersei’s gaze dropped. 

Arya relaxed her arm on the hilt of her borrowed blade as she watched her try to make sense of her lies. 

“Where is Jaime?”

“He’s bartering for your life. He thinks fighting alongside them in the North earned him the right to speak on your behalf.”

“Aren’t you a knowledgeable soldier. You didn’t fall by the sword with your comrades. I survived a few more hours to protect my queen.”

“If she has taken the castle that means you’re on the losing side,” Cersei laughed mirthlessly. “You’re an idiot to stay.”

“Or I’m the soldier who preserved Cersei Lannister for the dragon bitch to do what she likes.”

Cersei’s chin rose as her gaze became more calculating as she sized up the guard. “How disloyal of you.”

“I don’t warrant chains?” the blonde asked as she raised her hands.

“Don’t take it as an affront, your grace. I know just how dangerous you are. Don’t expect me to blink for an extended period of time around you.”

“She’s going to burn me alive,” Cersei dropped her hand, noticing her wine and her glass was missing. “It’s her way. You think your sins are as forgivable as mine.”

“I was following orders.”

“That absolves you of the people you killed, the lives you ruined, the women you raped?”

“I don’t rape women.”

“They come willingly after you’ve carried out the will of your master? Am I in for a bit of rape? I won’t go down willingly.”

“Don’t fret, your grace. I treat my cock better than that. I wouldn’t subject it to the treacherous depths of your cunt.”


	21. Chapter 21

Spending hours talking was large waste of her dragons. Daenerys didn’t vocalize her opinion. Though letting it linger in her mind only soured her already sour mood. She was tired and irritated and ready for action. She’d crossed a sea, killed Whites, and survived small battles in between fleeing King’s Landing to now. Tyrion told her it was a time to reflect and take measured steps to conquer the city. 

She didn’t need measured steps when she had a dragon. She could fly over the entire city and burn it to the ground. What was it he called her? The Queen of Ashes? It wasn’t appealing aesthetically. Even still there was something lurking inside of her that wanted to be unleashed now that she was so close...something dangerous. To voice it to anyone other than herself she’d risk exposing a side of herself she’d only utilized when the situation required extreme prejudice.

Where was Arya when she needed someone to reflect on her appetite for revenge? Where was Missandei when she needed a voice of reason and comfort? They weren’t dead. She didn’t believe Arya would die so close to reaching her goal. Nor would she have the audacity to survive and not keep Missandei safe. She knew Daenerys would never forgive her if that ever happened.

They weren’t dead. However, even thinking that they were alive put her in a bad mood. She didn’t like waiting in the dark. 

Daenerys glares at the melting candle on the table. Tyrion was on her carpet explaining the terms Cersei wanted to negotiate for her to open the gates. The twilight was warm, much warmer than the North. She preferred this weather. Arya disliked the warmth in Essos. She constantly wiped away sweat five minutes underneath the sun. She teased the younger woman about it and took Arya’s teasing gracefully when she warned the Queen about the North.

Those were good memories. They were distracting memories as her council looked to her to respond to Tyrion who appeared to have remnants of food stuck in his hair.

“She is very demanding for someone who acknowledges she is defeated.”

“I think it is an opportunity, your grace. You win the war without shedding blood. You show mercy and introduce the people to a better sort of ruler,” Tyrion said.

Jon nodded to her right and Ser Davos along with him. They were all hardened by war and at the same time softened by it. She understood that all too well, except there was something anticlimactic about mercy. Daenerys’ dissatisfaction shone on her face as she remained quiet.

“This seems….” she sighed, failing to find the word. “Easy.”

“Fighting off the walking dead will make anything that comes after seem that way, your grace,” said Ser Davos.

“Do you think she’ll hand herself over so easily?” She asked Tyrion.

“If anyone is taking it the hardest it is my sister. Believe me, your grace, this is not easy for her. If we send word tonight to accept her terms we can be within the Red Keep by morning,” he said confidently.

He stood a little taller after he said that. He was proud of himself. It was a testament to his belief in himself and the fact that all parties would accept. 

“I’ll have to give this some thought,” she said as she eyed Grey Worm who stood stoic beside his Dothrahki counterpart who hadn’t nodded along with Jon.  
She scratched the skin above her eyebrow. It was on the tip of her tongue to dismiss the group when there was a commotion outside of the tent. One of the soldiers ran only to stumble to a stop when he realized what he’d just interrupted. He bent the knee immediately and spoke in his native tongue. The Westerosi warriors that assembled in her tent looked to her to explain the excitement on the warrior’s face.

Daenerys lifted up in her seat for the first time since the draining meeting started. Sitting forward she looked at Tyrion and the others with a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. “It seems we have guests.” She ordered him to escort them in immediately.

He hopped up and pivoted to exit the tent.

“Guests?” Jon asked.

Daenerys waved him away as she looked expectantly at the entrance. The soldiers were clamoring outside and soon the owners of the voices outside the tent revealed themselves. First a woman with a brown sack over her head was pushed inside. She landed on her knees with a grunt and at the feet of her captor.

“Arya Stark,” Daenerys stood.

“Your grace.”

“You left Winterfell boasting that you would win me this war. Yet, here we are having this conversation outside of the city walls,” she pointed out coldly.

Arya was unfazed as she kicked her gift closer to the small table where the council members stood. “I don’t come empty handed. May I present The Lioness Cersei Lannister.”

The reactions were simultaneous and in some ways the same narrowed down to surprise and disbelief. 

“Show me,” Daenerys commanded.

Arya’s Dothrahki escorts grabbed the bound woman by her shoulders, forcing her upright on her knees. They forced the sack off of her head and revealed the disheveled Lannister. Her eyes were bright with rage and malice. Her gag was soaked and dirt and dry spit stained her chin. She growled trying to rip free of the grip of her captors. 

“Cersei Lannister,” Daenerys tried the name out. It also caught the struggling woman’s attention. “Your brother was in the process of sharing your terms to open the gate to King’s Landing. I have to admit I like these terms much better.” She lifted her gaze to Arya who shied away from the spotlight. “Wherever did you find the restraint, Stark?”

Arya shrugged.

Cersei growled and began to struggle in earnest again. She would have that discussion with Arya in private. She preferred it that way. 

“Have a cage sent to my tent. When I return to my quarters I expect Cersei to be inside of it.” The Dothrahki guards obeyed her orders after replacing the bag over her head. 

“Well done,” Ser Davos said to Arya. Her hands were behind her back and she took the praise in stride. If she offered any emotion it would be rage. She didn’t dare look in Tyrion’s direction and she didn’t dare stay long enough for the shock to wear off and be brought into an impromptu celebration. She made an excuse about needing a bath and left the advisors to talk over the news of Cersei’s capture. Her shoulders sagged as she left feeling the weight of her life in the last few years being lifted. She had avenged her father and her family’s honor only partially. She could have killed her. It would have been so easy. Despite the plethora of chances she opted to sneak the Cersie out of the Red Keep and bring her to face Daenerys’ judgement. Why? 

She rubbed the back of her neck. She knew why. Arya didn’t want Ned to live in a world where bloodshed was the only answer. She finds a log and a fire to dump herself on. She doesn’t blend in with other restless soldiers because she knows one thing they don’t. The war is over.

*

“It’s a wonderful night to end a war,” Daenerys approached the assassin from the right. 

Arya entered Daenerys’ tent. It was one of the larger tents, which worked well when one was holding her sworn enemy captive. Cersei sat holding her knees in a cage that wasn’t built to house a human. Daenerys stood above her seemingly interrupting a conversation between queens. 

“You summoned me, your grace,” Arya said hoping that the point of this visit would reveal itself sooner rather than later.

“You are a hero, again.”

“I’m just someone who keeps their word.”

Daenerys’ smile is small but genuine. “I did have my doubts when there was no word from you or Missandei. Where is she?”

“She’s safe. I left her with a group of people that helped us when we...needed it.”

The sigh of relief is palpable. 

“She isn’t far,” added Arya, happy to give the queen peace of mind. 

“That pleases me to know that. I know how capable you are.”

Arya decided to leave out the details of Missandei’s injury. She didn’t even know where to start with Ned or the kiss or the feelings that only a few days had uncovered. How could she tell Daenerys any of it? Would Missandei even want her to?

“I’d like to thank you properly,” said Daenerys.

Suddenly sharing the news didn’t seem all that important when the older woman closed in. Encompassed in a cocoon of her scent, Arya is drunk on a need that often arises when Daenerys looks at her like she’s the only one in the world. 

“What did you have in mind?”


	22. Chapter 22

It would have been easy to let Daenerys lean in. Their lips could touch and their tongues could touch and their hands could explore familiar terrain. Arya felt her hands reaching. She could go as far as she liked. She couldn’t make that move with Missandei and Ned so close to the surface.

“A thank you is all I require, your grace,” she said ducking her head. She followed her statement up with a step back. “All you have to do is say it.”

“Thank you,” Daenerys obliged her with a frown. “We’ll want something official so the realm may thank you as well.”

“No need. You know I don’t want that.”

“Sansa and Jon will insist.”

“That word never impressed me as a child. It doesn’t impress me now,” Arya took another step away from her.

This time Daenerys didn’t avoid the obvious. “Are you retreating? The Hero of Winterfell and the woman who captured the prize Lannister Lioness is retreating from me?” Daenerys matched Arya’s retreating step. 

“I want to be close, which is the reason why I shouldn’t be.”

Daenerys frowned, “I don’t understand. Do you fear me?” the smaller woman chuckled. Biting on her lower lip she used another step to advance on the confusingly apprehensive Arya. “Don’t,” she said, seeing Arya shifting to make a move. “Don’t you dare.”

Arya sighed as she obeyed Daenerys. Her lips were close. Close enough to kiss. “Where is my brother?”

Daenerys’ chuckled darkly. “You can look for him after. I want to thank you now. I demand it.”

“You demand, your grace?”

“I never thought I would have to, Stark. Stop this,” a hand caresses the brunettes’ face. “Do you recall what you told me in Winterfell? You accomplished what others doubted you could. Feel this,” she brought her hand to her heart. “You are responsible for that.”

“And you are responsible for so much more, which is why I can’t...which is why I shouldn’t.”

“Who is she?”

“What?”

“The Arya who left Winterfell swore she would fight for me. She wasn’t conflicted and yet you stink of it.” She threw Arya’s hand to her side violently. “You could have delivered Cersei’s head to me and I would have been satisfied. The Arya I know wouldn’t have the woman who beheaded her father off so easily.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Arya growled. She glared at Cersei. “It isn’t easy.”

“You want to kill her now. The same way you want to fuck me...what’s stopping you?”

Arya shakes her head adding more distance between them. This time Daenerys doesn’t follow her. She’s grateful for the space. She needed the room to think to make sense of what comes after all the killing. 

“I drugged her first,” the brunette started. “I watched her sleep. When she woke up I had every intention of telling her who I was...I do that before they die. I show them the face of the wolf. Part of me hopes they see my father.”

“You told me it’s exhilarating. It’s just you and your kill and the hope that your father understands.”

Arya nodded. “I think he’s most proud of me when I let her go. And I never would've come to that decision without...without Missandei.”

Daenerys smiled anxiously. “Missandei? She told you to spare Cersei.”

“Of course not.” Arya craned her head to the woman in the cage. She was gagged and eying the two women circling each other. “She would never try to change me. The way she looks at me sometimes, it reminds me of my father. I could terrorize my sister and be utterly in the wrong, but father...he’d always say there was a better way.”

“That’s...her nature is why she is my dearest friend. It sounds like you two have become close during your adventure.”

Cersei shrugged her shoulder and shifted her backside to get more comfortable. Arya trusted that she wouldn’t accomplish an ounce of comfort. She stepped toward the cage. “You know who I am?” she asked. During their escape there wasn’t much room for discussion. Crouching in front of her now Arya couldn’t help herself. “I’m a little older, but I know you know who I am.”

Daenerys poured wine in a goblet. She brought it to her lips when she relocated behind Arya, who was still inspecting her catch.

“She is quite beautiful,” Daenerys said. 

“Her head will look beautiful on a spike,” Arya agreed.

“She could live the rest of her days in the Red Keep. She’s very attached to that place. It might be fitting to live out her days there.”

“That sounds quite merciful coming from you,” the brunette pointed out.

Daenerys reached down to play Arya’s ear. “I am that among other things. There was a time when I didn’t have to work this hard to show you.”

Arya couldn’t argue with that. She caught herself leaning into the touch she withdrew from earlier. She could stay. She could touch. She felt the woman lower herself beside Arya and press her breasts to Arya’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so safe,” Daenerys whispered.

“I make you feel that.”

“With all my heart.” 

It felt good to be strong enough to save someone. It felt good to know that The Mother of Dragons felt safe with her. She wanted that. She liked knowing that Cersei was present. The woman who took away her whole world could hear the confidence in Daenerys’ voice. She was happy to have her watch the smaller woman affectionately connect her lips to her neck.


	23. Chapter 23

“I can’t stay,” Arya said.

Daenerys’ lips persisted.

Arya repeated her line again this time pulling away. She didn’t account for Daenerys using her weight to throw the younger woman off balance. From her back violet eyes were searching for something for five significant seconds. When she found what she was looking for she straddled Arya who was in the process of sitting up.

The Mother of Dragons pressed her hands against the woman’s stomach. They didn’t stay there for long. Her hands went around her neck. The kiss was wet and warm and Arya responded with a fervor that denoted genuine desire for this woman, beyond what she felt for Daenerys. When they parted and their panting filled the tent the Dragon Queen smiled.

“For a minute there...I thought I’d lost you.”

Arya pulled away when she tried to lean in again. “I can’t stay.”

“Where else do you have to be?”

“Missandei doesn’t know if I’m alive or not. I’d like to return to her to ease her mind.”

Daenerys wanted to see her dear friend. She wanted to know that she was well because the days had gone on longer in her absence. She suggested a compromise, “I’ll send men to retrieve her. They’ll escort her back here safely.”

“I told her I’d come back.”

“I’m sure she’d forgive you if she knew it was me insisting you stay.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to keep my word to you and do otherwise with her,” Arya tried to reason with Dany.

“Again, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“I gave her my word.”

“You’re such a Stark,” Daenerys hissed, pressing her forehead against the brunettes. “What person in their right mind would fall in love with your kind?”

Arya smiles sadly at the observation recalling the fate of the women and men who had loved the Starks and died.

“You tell me, your grace,” the young Stark challenged.

This earned her an affectionate kiss. Her chest filled with warmth. 

*

Missandei had nightmares. It came with the territory of being a slave. You’re constantly filled with a sense of unease. The anxiety is beaten into them for practical reasons. No master desires a willful slave. Obedient slaves were fed. They weren’t terrorized. Fortunately, she had a penchant for picking up languages. 

She held Ned to her chest. He wasn’t a fussy child. He was fairly quiet when his essential needs were met in a timely manner. He’d been recently fed and placed into her arms because she had trouble sleeping. This life was quaint and quiet and so peaceful. As much as she missed her life at Daenerys’s side this was a new world she wanted to explore, motherhood. She didn’t know if that was a feasible goal beside The Mother of Dragons. 

She felt guilty for even thinking about leaving the woman who freed her. She had much to be grateful for and spend a good amount of time making sure she expressed in every word and action. Although, that love had its limits. She’d given up Arya once. With Ned in her arms and Arya’s declaration still fresh in her mind she didn’t think she could follow through a second time. 

*

She had never been more glad to hear Jon’s voice outside of the tent announcing himself. Daenerys had scrambled away from her in worry. She had become more confident in her action through Arya’s actions. 

“Go to him,” Arya said, unwilling to push the woman off for fear that she would reject the effort and let Jon walk in on them out of spite. 

“You’re impossible,” the woman said as she climbed off of the woman. She yelled for her brother to enter.

His strides were uncertain when he spotted his sister sitting beside Cersei and Daenerys standing over both of them. He offered his hand to his sister. He didn’t release her hand until he pulled her into a long hug.

“You did well, princess,” he laughed when Arya shoved him away. “My tent is your tent,” he offered.

She declined. “I have somewhere I need to be. I will return tomorrow By then I expect the Targaryen flags will be flying high to welcome us.”

“Us?” Jon frowned.

“Missandei.”

And Ned.

“You’re leaving tonight, Arya?” she didn’t even try to hide her displeasure hearing the news.

“I have assured you of Missandei’s health and well being. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of seeing it for yourself, your grace.”

At least Jon was on her side. Dany saw this, too. She wasn’t winning this so instead she latched onto another point of contention. “Fine, I will allow it on the condition that you attend the feast in honor of our victory.”

Arya scowled.

Jon’s face broke out into a relieved smile. “Of course. This time you won’t be able to escape into the shadows, sister. We’ll drink and celebrate your victory.”

“I don’t require it,” Arya said lamely to the traitor.

“You shall have it. You’ll have to face not only Dany, Sansa, and I but all of the Unsullied, Dothrahki, and the Northern Lords who you’ve saved. Thank you.” He grabbed her by her shoulders and embraced her again.

She left her brother with her lover and almost sprinted to her horse. She really should get some rest. Except she wasn’t tired. How could she be? Cersei was in a cage. The war was over. Arya was on her way to Missandei and Ned. She wanted to enjoy the feeling of heading towards answers to a deep seeded loneliness. 

When did Missandei become that answer? When had Ned? She felt her face burn from embarrassment. Her eyes were tired and her head felt heavy but she still wore a smile eager to get back to her family. Her family? She barely recognized herself lately. She couldn’t be made to feel bad about it. She couldn’t be stopped and nothing as insignificant as time, darkness, or terrain would prevent her from getting to Missandei tonight.

Funny how the return journey feels so much quicker. She made good time despite having to dismount when the wood became too thick for the horse to maneuver. Her body was tired and she ached, it affected her movements. She wasn’t as graceful as she would've been if she rested. It didn’t matter. The important thing was getting to Missandei to tell her the good news. She thought about wearing Grinn’s face. She decided against it. She wanted Missandei to know it was truly her and introduce herself to Ned properly. 

“Arya,” Missandei stated her name in the dark glaring at her silhouette as she opened the door. Ned was snuggled in a basket at peace. She hoped her father felt a similar peace now that the war was over. After all the rage and pain and sacrifice and determination that forged her resolve to avenge him she felt light. She felt free of something that had weighed her down for far too long.

"Yea," Arya's voice cracked. It didn't sound like her and she feared that Missandei would come to the same conclusion, but she didn't.

Missandei stood with the light of the full moon shining in. She looked younger. She looked more fragile. I love you, Arya wanted to say but felt strange following through with the taste of Daenerys still on her lips. She opted to close the distance between them and embrace the taller woman. Missandei held on like she never wanted to let go. She felt the woman shaking in her arms. She was crying and this distressed Arya more than anything. She pulled away ready to wipe away the tears when Missandei’s mouth crashed on hers.

“Don’t ever...leave like that again. Don’t you ever leave angry like you did. I could have lost you. I was angry and dumb.”

"I was dumb."

"I agree," Missandei conceded easily.

Arya vaguely remembered the tension before she left. It was so long ago. A war had ended in between then, but Missandei didn’t know that yet. She just knew Arya returned to her and she didn't want to be let go.


	24. Chapter 24

Arya doesn’t say anything and Missandei is quiet too. In a warm cocoon of their reunion their guilt can’t touch them. It’s only contentment. Arya steered away from calling it happy. Her childhood had been happy before it wasn’t. She’d existed in a space where things she knew before her father’s death didn’t feel the same. Happiness was something to shy away from as it didn’t fit well on her canvas of revenge. Arya had always assumed there was no room for it.

Arya changed into Grinn before they settled under a wool blanket. They would leave at first light though neither woman could sleep. Arya had given the abridged version of her adventure. Missandei seemed content for Arya’s tale to end as abruptly as it started. The important part was that the war was over. 

It was hard to be happy only because it was difficult to imagine. Daenerys dreamed of this moment. It was her destiny and by extension it was Missandei’s destiny to be by her side. It was strange to be so far from the bloodshed and the planning and the light in Daenerys’ eyes where her resolve shined.

“We can tell her the truth,” Missandei said. Her voice startled Arya who was content to listen to the woman's breath. 

Ned was beside them in a basket. The kid had no worries. “He’ll never be more free than he is at this moment,” Arya said enviously. “He doesn’t even know it. He won’t even remember it.”

“I know that I want this...Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes.”

“And if someone else asks you?”

“Say what you mean, Missandei,” Arya sounded more tired than irritated.

“Your family won’t accept me. And Daenerys won’t accept my feelings for you.”

“None of them are here so why are we talking about them?”

“I choose you. I’d choose you in front of Daenerys and your family and all of Westeros. Can you say the same for me?”

Arya chuckled darkly.

“That’s the opposite of an answer,” Missandei sat up.

Arya shivered from the unwelcome cold. Missandei brought her shoulders up, she felt the chill too. “Stop it,” she ordered as she wrapped large arms around the upset woman. “You yourself pointed out the obstacles we face ahead. What sense does it make to turn your back on me?”

“If I look at you I’ll hit you.”

“You’ll only land it if I let you and if I let you then it’s because I think I deserve it.”

To Missandei’s surprise she feels lips pressed against her shoulder. She sags into the chest at her back. Her neck sags forward, giving Arya permission to advance to a yearning neck.

“I’d just like to feel like I’m not the only one with something to lose,” Missandei countered stifling a moan.

Arya flattens her nose on the other woman’s cheek. Her tongue leaves a wet trail and without warning her teeth sinks into Missandei’s shoulder again. The woman’s breath hitches. Arya feels her cock twitch when Missandei, in the process of reaching for anything to anchor herself, digs her nails into Arya’s thigh.

“Then you’ll be delighted to know that under this stoic exterior is someone that is afraid of losing you,” she admitted. “I can’t give into it. I can’t sit in the dark and contemplate what if. Life unravels at its own speed and voracity. We control nothing but how we respond to it. I’d rather not spend my time dreaming of the worst when I can live in this moment with you.”

Missandei didn’t move and it seemed like she wouldn’t for the longest time, until she did. Her legs straddled Arya but she didn’t lower herself down.

“I’ve never…” Missandei paused. “The way you look at me I feel as if you would give me anything I ask.”

“If it’s within my power it’s yours,” Arya said. Her tongue wet her lips as Missandei’s nose brushed against hers.

“I want control,” Missandei whispered, licking Arya’s lower lip. 

“Aye? You’re beginning to remind me of someone we both know.”

She shook her head. She didn’t want to think of Daenerys now. She focused on Arya’s breathing as it pertained to her hands' descent into her trousers.

“I want control of you. I want you in a way that no one has ever had you.” 

They both knew that she had a specific person in mind. 

“Can you give me that? Don’t you think I deserve that?” She snakes her tongue out to graze Arya’s lips again.

“You deserve the world.”

Missandei releases a gentle laugh. It was a nice offer and as drunk as the other woman seemed she looked ready to give her the world and more. Power felt good and Arya’s ability to be vulnerable with her felt even better. 

“I don’t want the world. I want you, all of you. The best and worst of everything you have to offer.”

Her hand strokes Arya through her trousers. The action shoots a wave of desire through Arya. A hot wave that has her humping the air and making Missandei smile in a way that she’d never thought capable. It was sexy and disarming and nothing like the kind smiles or the sardonic smiles they’d shared. This was something new and exciting and Arya wanted to sink into it.

But did she truly know what she was asking? She’d changed into Grinn so as not to alarm their hosts in the morning. It wouldn’t take much to change back...

“Missandei?” Arya asked. “Are you sure... “ It doesn’t have to be like this? If you don’t want I can-”

“Shhh.”

Arya swallowed. It was an effort to keep her eyes open. She didn’t dare close her eyes and miss Missandei’s expression. Curiosity had never looked so damn sexy.

“I’ve always sensed this immense sadness and raw power inside of you. I never believed that you would want this with me...not when you had her attention. I’ve heard you and her together. I didn’t mean to and when I realized what was happening I couldn’t stop listening.” Missandei closed her hand around Arya’s dick. “Has she ever had you like this? Have you ever been inside her like this?” She punctuated her words with a squeeze.

Arya couldn’t stop her eyes from closing. She shook her head. She couldn’t put a sentence together so she saved herself from stuttering. Arya reaches out and pulls Missandei to her by her neck to kiss her.

Missandei shrugs the hand away and puts her hands around Arya’s throat. “I’m not her.”

“Fuuuu...aye...Missandei.” Her hips thrust up on their own volition. Her dick crashes into Missandei’s center and it’s almost their undoing. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Then be good,” Missandei demanded as she reaches into Arya’s trousers and grabs her firmly coaxing it out into the air. "Be good to me Arya. Can you promise me that?"

“I promise.”

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was demanding and wanton and consummate of feelings that had been stirring ever since they met.


	25. Chapter 25

Tyrion eyed his sister, gagged with her chin high as if she weren’t in a wooden cage. He knew how she felt having sailed in a box from Westeros to Essos. His stature had made the trip bearable. Her height made her circumstances less forgiving. She had been transported in that box on a wagon. That wagon had paraded the former queen through the streets, not dissimilar to her walk of shame and the same.

“You can’t do this forever,” he told her. 

Daenerys wanted Cersei close. In the dark she could imagine how her world would unravel. Her fears could manifest into something that would drive her mad. Daenerys didn’t want that for her. She is placed to the right of the Iron Throne the same way a table would be placed there to sit a drink or a book. This is where Tyrion finds her with a guard standing by so no one touches Daenerys' prize.

“I can talk to the Queen. She’s not above reason or mercy and your child will be safe, I swear it.”

Cersei rolls her eyes, not that her brother can see. She turned her head as soon as he walked into the room. He hadn’t shifted to force her to meet his gaze assuming that it would turn into a game of hiding her face no matter where he stood. He settled for the view of her neck and her folded limbs. He worried about the baby’s growth even though he wasn’t sure about it’s mother’s future. What would become of his dear sister? How could he ensure no more needless blood was shed? How would he ensure that she lived? And he wanted her to live. He wanted her far away from here with a second chance devoid of the shadow of her sins.

Arya had done a great service to them all. Except, he can’t celebrate as guiltless as he would like, not with his sister in a cage.

*

All the rooms looked the same. Missandei stood in the center of the room. It was lavish, not unlike her room in Mereen. She’d been in awe of her new home as much as she was impressed by the girl she followed on the journey there. The girl who had become a ruler, a Queen, a symbol of something good for her at least.   
She clasped her hands together and dipped her head. She feels warm and her heart races. All these beautiful tapestries, furniture, and the bed. Food had been carried in by a trembling woman who only wanted to do well and keep her job. She never looked Missandei in the eye and she completely missed Arya and Ned. 

“Why did we come back here?” she mumbled.

“Hmmm?” Arya hummed while her eyebrows hiked. She held a wolf toy over Ned’s head. His eyes were alight with confusion and delight.

Missandei’s hands went to her waist. “Why are we here?”

Arya incited a toothless smile from the little one dipping her wolf toy onto his stomach. “According to you it’s the right thing to do.”

“The princess of House Stark didn’t disagree,” Missandei countered. She hid her face behind her hands. “Why didn’t you disagree?”

“Are you hungry?” Arya asked Ned. He hadn’t eaten in an hour but she was fairly sure baby’s were always hungry. “How long until you think he can eat real food?”

“He needs teeth Arya,” Missandei ground out, dropping her hands.

“I know,” the young Stark dipped her head and titled it up to investigate the baby’s gums. “How long does it take for that to happen?”

“Arya,” Missandei called out to her. She called again when her voice seemed to be drowned out by the baby’s gurgling. Closing in on them her face softens she drops her knee to the bed using her other hand to rest on Arya’s hip. “Have I told you how amazing you look when you play with our son?”

Arya snorted.

“I mean it.”

Arya looked at her finally.

Missandei continued. “I can’t even describe how happy I feel that you want this...I never thought you would.”

The smaller woman shrugged. Her armorer was sitting in a chair nearby. She had surreptitiously tucked a dagger under her pillows when she thought Missandei wasn’t looking. She laid half on and off the bed with Ned tucked in close enough that there was no need to worry that he would fall. Arya wouldn’t let him fall. She was very protective that way. Guided by the warmth in her chest she moved her fingers under Arya’s shirt to affectionately rub her skin.

“If we’re being totally honest right now. This...us...it’s something that I never knew I wanted.”

“That makes two of us,” a voice rang from the entrance. 

Both women looked up to see Jon standing at the threshold. His uncertainty makes Arya want to laugh. Instead she growls for her brother to come in and meet his nephew, Ned. One halting step turned into three hesitant ones until a final step brought him to the edge of the bed. Ned lay upside down, bald, and very content.

“It looks like you’ve been up to more than just winning us the war,” he said gazing at Missandei briefly. 

“Mother would have been proud don’t you think?” she joked weakly and she leans closer to the baby boy.

Arya used playing with the baby to quell her self consciousness. Thoughts of her mother came with a greater degree of regret. Much of her childhood consisted of listening to her scold Arya for being less than a lady as if she hung her worth as a mother on Arya’s performance as a proper lady. She had died leaving Arya to feel like she failed her in the same way she failed her father even though there wasn’t much she could do, not as a child. Not as a child full of raw emotion and arrogant youth.

Jon kneeled by the bed and asked if he’d heard the name correctly.

“We thought it would be a fitting way to welcome a child into a world without war. A new beginning for all of us,” Missandei pointed out.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said truthfully stymied by the news and overt affection between the two women. “This is wonderful news. Does Dany know?”

“Not yet,” Missandei said. “It’s not wrong to assume she has more important concerns.”

Neither woman bothered to explain their anxiety of Daenerys knowing about the baby. To speak of it meant they had to accept the consequences of their love and their family.


	26. Chapter 26

“You don’t like to see her in a cage,” said Daenerys. She’d been watching her Hand speak to his sister. His tone was soft. It was meant to soothe her like one would speak to something wild and ready to mistrust any attention. It wasn’t so far-fetched to believe that she could be in that cage. If something had gone wrong...if Arya had been on a different side or someone like Arya. 

Except, there was no one like Arya. Thoughts of the younger girl provoked a smile. She would see her soon enough along with Missandei whom she’d been informed had arrived not too long ago. As much as she wanted to see for her own eyes that Missandei was okay, there were preparations that needed her attention. Guards needed to be replaced. The council, which seemed non existent, needed to be assigned. The people needed reassurance that she would be a just ruler despite her predecessors, despite her father’s reputation.

There was much that needed to be done because she had won.

Tyrion had kneeled in front of his sister now. The movement stirred her and she didn’t like the idea of her Hand kneeling so easily to a conquered queen.

“I win the war and your allegiance quivers so quickly, Tyrion. I rather think like rooting for the underdog on principle,” Daenerys said half joking.

The shorter man corrected his position and bowed his head as she came closer. Cersei hadn’t turned when her rival entered the room. She did snort when her brother offered up his apologies. 

“You don’t like seeing her like this.”

“It wasn’t the first choice for my sister.”

“What do you suggest I do with her?”

“She’s with child. I don’t think a child should suffer for the sins of their parents.”

“Some would think it’s a birthright. We are born stained and remain unclean as long as there are people, who still ache from our parent’s sins. Cersei’s child will be no different, she’s lost three children already.”

“All the more reason to spare the fourth.”

“What are you suggesting, Tyrion?”

“I could raise it.”

“No!”

Cersei’s scream provoked the guard who slammed his hand on the crown of the cage. Cersei winced and attempted to shrink away, but there was nowhere for her to move. Nowhere for her to go. She was stuck. 

“I’d rather die with it inside me than give it up to you, imp.”

“You are nothing if not consistent,” Daenerys observed. “You care so much for someone who thinks so little of you, Tyrion. Why is that?”

“We can’t choose family. We can choose how we feel about them. I know what it means to take the life of your own blood. Cersei only dreams of it, without understanding what that does to the soul.”

“What you ask isn’t easy.”

“This is true, your grace. I don’t ask lightly.”

“How do I know that the child, when they learn about their mother, won’t want revenge?”

“I would teach them a better way.”

“You are very confident in your ability to teach. I have yet to see a pupil to vouch for that confidence,” Daenerys circled his sister in full view of her Hand. “You think the child isn’t already tainted by her rage.”

“One who is foolish could make the same argument that you were similarly tainted by your father, your grace,” Tyrion stated.

Daenerys’ jaw worked. “One who is foolish is correct. There are many people who desire to see her die.”

“They aren’t thinking of the bigger picture.”

“Besides this becoming an opportunity to be a father, preserve a piece of your sister, and shift the philosophy of your family to suit you?”

“Larger, your majesty.”

Her eyebrows rose waiting for him to continue.

“This child will serve generations of Targaryen under the Lannister banner.”

“I’ll die first,” Cersei growled. “I’d rather die Tyrion before I lose another child to you. Myrcella died because of you.”

He dropped his gaze to his sister, boxed in and still unmovable. It had to be exhausting to live with so much rage. There was barely any room left over for something as gentle as love. Why couldn’t she that? There was no future for a child with a mother who could only love in one way.

“My niece died because of the choices we both made. I’m truly sorry for the hand I played in it, more than you know.”

“Shut up,” Cersei hissed. “I wish you had died.”

“She wishes you had died Tyrion,” Daenerys’ parroted to gauge his commitment to his request. 

He inhaled then released a tired sigh. “I don’t wish death on her or her child, your grace. I’d still like you to review my request to raise the child as my own.”

Daenerys assured him of it. The double door opened and she looked at Missandei entering the great hall. Her smile was small and hesitant as if she wasn’t sure that Daenerys would accept her return. It was an odd way to greet her, but Daenerys was more than willing to ease any uneasiness wrought from their separation.

“You’re back in one piece,” she closed in and grabbed the other woman’s hands. “If anything happened to you I wouldn’t forgive Arya. Thank you for not putting me in the position to call for Arya’s head,” she joked.

Missandei chuckled weakly. “Something did happen.”

Daenerys frowned. Missandei eyed Tyrion and the blonde in the cage. She was guided away from them by a sure hand sitting at the bottom of her back. “Are you not well?”

In a moment of panic her thoughts went to some disease she contracted on her journey. In the safety of the hall she clasped the woman’s face to ask her again. If something was wrong she didn’t need Missandei hiding the truth from her. She didn’t need someone's misguided protection. She needed the truth.

“I was shot on the way to King’s Landing.”

“Who?”

“Thieves.”

“Where was Arya?”

“Making them regret shooting me,” Missandei chose the abridged version. It seemed the best choice when the shorter woman released a sigh of relief.

“I just came from the room you’ve given me. It’s beautiful. I saw Jon, he seems...happy.”

“He was rooting for this end. No more needless bloodshed.”

“An outcome that will undoubtedly turn you into the most beloved Targaryen,” Missandei teased.

Missandei was still tense, there was more. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Arya...she’s like no one we’ve ever met. Don’t you agree, your grace?”

“Of course,” Daenerys said. This was something that they’d discussed the first few months of meeting the woman. She was the first Stark they’d ever met and to be honest she had set a high bar for her siblings to follow. Jon had come close. Sansa was fierce in her own and unlike the other two dark haired siblings. 

“What she’s done for the realm..it deserves a reward.”

“Of course. The question is whether she will take it.”

“If you really want to please her...there’s something not even she will refuse.”  
“She should come to me and ask.”

“She wouldn’t think of it,” Missandei said quickly.

“She wouldn’t?” Daenerys studied the taller woman closely. She bowed her head. Their eye contact had been scarce if not nonexistent. “But you would.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Silence.

“Why?” Daenerys said more harshly. Her heart drummed. Her chest rose and fell as if she’d run a marathon. Thoughts marched in a row in her head without her permission. Thoughts of how close Missandei and Arya had gotten. “Why can’t Arya tell me herself?”

“She thinks so little of formalities. She wouldn’t think to ask for it. She’s guided by her heart. She thinks her freedom is something no one but her can own.”

Daenerys couldn’t help the acid in her tone. “What do you know of the Stark’s heart?”

“She doesn’t give it freely. And when she does you don't want to break it.”

Daenerys thought of something she wanted to break. “You say this as if you know this intimately.”

“We’ve become close,” she admitted thinking of Ned and Arya waiting for her back in the room.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I went into 72hr quarantine without my laptop charger and here we are. I had enough juice to update my fics. However the last chapter was not supposed to end so abruptly. Having rested my hands overnight I typed this chapter entirely on my phone because I couldn’t leave you readers with the last chapter as an unintentional cliffhanger.
> 
> Enjoy.

Daenerys’ kingdom or lust? Her kingdom or love? Has anyone ever lived to force Dany to make a choice so selfish? Not that she can recall. She never needed to with Khal Drogo. She never needed to with the handful of would-be lovers, whose desires were vetted and dismissed as lesser. Tyrion had advice ready for how she managed the men and women who entered her bed. Jon Stark seemed to the only one exempt from his disapproval.

“The Stark’s are a great house,” he told her in his own encouraging way.

Jon had showed his affection for the queen on more than one public occasion. Daenerys had allowed it in acknowledgement that while his desires were lesser, his allegiance was invaluable.

It was invaluable, she repeated to herself as Missandei walked off with the important task of interviewing the staff. The Queen had ordered it to the shock of both women. It wasn’t pressing. The proverbial dust was still settling. Still, it wasn’t safe for Missandei to stand there working to get something important out. Something that Daenerys had to stop Missandei from sharing in a moment she didn’t trust herself to hear it.

She hadn’t meant to snap at her. She did regret it when she saw her mask settle and she bowed her head as if she were just some ordinary servant on her service. Oh no, she wasn’t ordinary. She was beautiful, intelligent, scarred, and she wore mysterious like the furs Northerners wear in winter.

The description rang true to Arya’s type. The woman who could figure out men and women so easily would love the challenge of Missandei. The time she spent with her had...no...she wouldn’t do that to herself. She wouldn’t guess. She wouldn’t give the images on her head substance if it was anchored by suspicion. No, she’d ask Arya herself. Daenerys felt like she was more capable of handling her ire if it were to make an appearance.

Arya hadn’t wanted her to touch her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She wanted it. However, Arya had a stronger reason to withdraw. That hadn’t happened since Daenerys brought up her brother as a contender for her hand. It had been around the time when Arya refused to reassure Daenerys of her intentions one night so long ago before she’d even met the other Stark siblings. It had been lighter back then, their interaction. Daenerys was an ambitious ruler with simpler rules and Arya was a killer with similarly simple creed.

It hit her how complicated her life was to be when she oscillated between love and lust with the Stark siblings. One more she was certain, which one to choose. Other moments, not so much. It didn’t help that she was beginning to hear things, a baby crying. Her legs travelled on their own accord to the source of the sound.

Curiosity caught up to her. Soon she was walking with a purpose in hopes of...she wasn’t sure. Children had always been a welcome distraction spreading warmth and melancholy in her chest. Children were hope and she needed that feeling like a drug to center herself. To remind herself of the string of titles she earned from her years as nomadic conqueror. She was a ruler of mercy. Only one with a heart and a great destiny deserved such a title.

Her great heart beat rapidly and for no other reason than the excitement of touching something small and fragile. Holding something she was born to protect. She heard voices over the crying baby. The inelegant sound of two people with little experience in soothing babies from the sound of it. She wasn’t disappointed either. Jon was holding a baby and for a moment she wondered who in their right mind would have given their child to him.

“Missandei does this much better than you. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Arya teased her furrowed brow brother.

“This is the way it’s done is it not?”

“You’ve to bounce with the knees. It’s all in the knees,” Arya instructed. She showed him what she meant.

Daenerys thought it was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. Both Stark’s struggling to soothe the baby.

“Do I even want to know how this baby came into your possession? Did you two scare off one of Cersei’s servant girls and in her rush she left her child?”

Jon beamed. “As likely as that seems, we are only placeholders until the his mother comes back. She thought us capable.”

Daenerys giggled. “I fear she thought wrong.”

Arya bristled.

“He was fine until he got a good look of Jon here. Not all of us are incapable.”

Arya reached for the crying Ned to prove her point.   
She pressed him into her as Missandei had taught her and bounced in the way she suggested would help. Lastly, she hummed a lullaby that Missandei used to help ease him into a state of calm. She didn’t have her lover’s melodic voice, but she committed to it. 

The younger Stark had tunnel vision. Her mission was simple and she thought of nothing else. She missed Jon claiming the space beside Daenerys. Her teasing smirk was replaced by a bemused one.

“She’s not as bad as I thought she’d be. One more sign of Missandei’s influence over her,” Jon helped.

“What?”

“It’s not surprising that Arya would tell me. We don’t discuss things like that. But Missandei, she left to find you...I thought that’s why you came. Didn’t she tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“There’s two new additions to the Stark family,” he nodded to Arya and Ned. “I believe it will go along way if you and I show our support. I can think of no better match for Arya than Missandei. She’s good for her,” he said and crossed his arms.

“I’m sure there’s supplies around here for a baby. I sent Missandei off on an errand before she could tell me the news. I feel so foolish now...”

Jon volunteered to handle the search for blankets, a crib, and food. He assured her that he’d direct Missandei back. Daenerys dropped to the foot of the bed no longer pretending that she could hold herself up with the weight of the news.

“Before, when you were so adamant...you didn’t want me to touch you. She was the reason?”

Arya looked up.

“Before you left you were mind. I can’t imagine what happened to shift your affections.”

“I’ve always been fond of Missandei.”

“Fond enough to end a war for her?”

“I did that for you. I did it for him.” She pressed a kiss to Ned’s crown. “She isn’t as easily appeased by bloodshed as you are.”

“She has become a confidant of the desires of your heart. And you are intimately aware of what appeases her?” she spat. 

Arya sighed. “Don’t.”

“What? Don’t what?”

“I want this. I want her. I want him. I don’t want...”

“Me?”

Daenerys closed the distance between them. She was painfully aware of the child in her arms. Painfully aware of how much she wanted this for herself. Painfully aware that she wanted to tease and teach Arya all she knew about taking care of a baby. Painfully aware that her chance had been stolen by the one person she trusted above all others.

“I’ll always want you. Missandei and Ned need me more.” Arya searched her eyes. “Your Jon’s.”

“Since when?”

“He’s a good fit for you.”

“I can’t believe you,” Daenerys gasped.

“I didn’t come to this conclusion on my own. You helped. You wanted this.”

“Not this.”

“Yes.”

“No,” she whispered harshly feeling tears form at the corner of her eyes.

“All those nights in my arms,” Arya started. “You always spoke of a dream we both knew deep down I couldn’t be part of.”

“My brother has always been a better match. He’ll follow you and challenge you and love you.”

“And what does Missandei offer you?”

Daenerys hated the soft smile on Arya’s lips when her thoughts drift to her. “Peace.”

Daenerys scoffed. She faced away from Arya and Ned.

“I have always been either your bed warmer or your sword. I was never a contender for your hand. It’s hard to get her feelings to the surface, she reminds me of you that way, but she cares for me. I care for her. Would you give us this?”

It seemed Arya could ask for herself. Missandei was wrong and it bothered her, beyond words, that it seemed they both felt so strongly about leaving her.

“I can’t.”

Arya sighed.

“It’s important to Missandei.”

“It’s not important for you?” Daenerys whipped around. “You can leave me so easily?”

“Just as easily as you chose my brother over me after sharing so much of yourself...after making me believe...”

“I wasn’t lying.” Daenerys took her face into her hands to press their foreheads together. She couldn’t get too close without crushing Ned. “I swear I wasn’t lying.”

“I made peace that you wanted a kingdom more than you wanted me. That isn’t the love that I want and I don’t dare ask for something you can’t give.”

“Who says I can’t?”

“Dany...”

“How dare you have so little faith in me.”

“It’s the same length and width of your faith in us. Silver tongued Tyrion needed only to give you a few words and you were infected with doubt.”

“That’s not fair.”

“To be fair...I understand. Before I knew what you felt like I imagined what Missandei in my bed.”

The child saved Arya from a well deserved slap. 

“Arya stop it,” Missandei said with a woman behind her. Missandei asked for the child to be taken away leaving the three women in an uncomfortable silence.

Missandei broke the silence first after she secured the door and stepped toward Daenerys. “She’s never been great with words. She didn’t mean it.”

Arya glared petulantly. Nevertheless she kept her mouth shut. 

Daenerys studied their interaction guardedly. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time, inadequate. Unable to please others in the way Viscerion had vowed she never would. Her chest rose and fell and as nice as it would be to let Missandei talk her down, she couldn’t.

Instead she claimed the seat at the end of the bed. “I don’t think I’ll believe it until I see for myself.”

Arya frowned. Misssndei looked from her Queen to her lover. Daenerys waited expectantly. Missandei had spent longer following orders than Arya. Daenerys wasn’t surprised when the woman moved first. She kissed an unresponsive Arya and kissed her way to bare skin as her finger searched for more under her top.

“Why are you doing this?” She pulled away to look at Missandei.

“I don’t mind,” she said leaving out the declaration in her eyes.

She wanted to see. Daenerys didn’t need the reminder. It was hard to look away. She didn’t want to look away.


	28. Chapter 28

Missandei’s voice was calming. Her trust in both women was evident in her unhurried movements. Arya’s thoughts were swimming and when Missandei lowered herself to her knees she almost lost track of why she was upset. Her shirt was being pushed up and lips were gliding over her flat stomach. As she stilled the hand that twitched to grab a handful of hair she sucked in her lower lip.

Through hooded eyes she spied the tell tale signs of her arousal mixed with something else.

Arya yanked her shirt away from Missandei’s capable hands. She took three steps away to clear her head as the kneeling woman caught herself before she fell over. 

“Arya...” the translator gasped.

“Why’d you stop?” Daenerys leaned forward uncrossing her legs as if she were about to stand.

Arya covered her face with her hands. Another step back sent her tumbling onto a chair. Her elbow with the edge and she cradled it as pain shot through her arm.

“Ahh...” she groaned then hissed.

Missandei crawled to her and Daenerys reached for her arm as well. Daenerys stood behind her and Missandei’s, who had already rolled up Arya’s sleeve, lightly touched the area. She frowned detecting no damage.

“You’ll live,” she said with a grin playing on her lips.

Arya’s first attempt to respond came out as a croak. She cleared her throat. “Will I?”

“That’s entirely up to me,” Daenerys pointed out.

“Your grace?” Missandei didn’t relinquish Arya’s arm.

“How long have you wanted what was mine?” The Queen accused.

Missandei almost bowed her head. “You can’t claim someone that you’re not even sure you wanted.”

“What did you say?”

Missandei pursed her lips.

Arya took back her arm and put herself between the women. “Enough.”

“I spent many nights claiming Arya. There isn’t a surface I didn’t mark with my fingers, teeth, and tongue.”

“Is that all?” The Naathi challenged.

“You’ve been close enough to hear her scream my name. Did she sound dissatisfied enough to settle for you?”

Arya glared at them. “She is standing right here.”

The Naathi ignores her. “Have you had her cock inside you?”

Daenerys tilted her head. Arya would have laughed at the look of confusion if she dared to drop her guard. She couldn’t do that. Not when they looked ready to kill each other.

“Cock? Are you deranged?”

“No.”

Daenerys studied the incriminating crimson on Arya’s cheeks. “What is she talking about?”

“Nothing.”

“I know every inch of your body...I would have noticed.”

“Not every inch,” Missandei’s drew her attention to her again.

“Odd,” started Daenerys. “I didn’t notice that addition when she came to me the other night. I was pretty thorough.”

“You let her touch you before you came to me?” Missandei’s anger disappeared and pain replaced it.

“I stopped it,” Arya said quickly. She reached for her only to be rebuffed.

“We were interrupted,” Daenerys said unhelpful.

Daenerys comment renewed the Naathi’s ire. “Are you the woman who she chose to raise Ned?”

“The mysterious baby that you returned with? You named him Ned?”

“After her father. It was Arya’s idea.”

Daenerys snorted. “You really are committing to whatever this is.”

“It’s our chance at a family,” Missandei said.

“A family?” The Queen swallowed. A pained look hit Arya in the gut.

Missandei barreled on. “I know Arya in ways you never will, your grace. Why would you want to when you have all this?” Missandei waved at the opulent furnishings in the room and including everything beyond it. “You’ve taught me to go after what I want. I want Arya. I want our son. I want a life you showed me I deserve.”

Daenerys eyed both women. Arya inhaled as she shifted her weight. She looked lost and it broke her heart a little to see Daenerys wearing it. The woman was usually driven and focus and uncompromising. She wasn’t used to seeing the masks unravel especially because of Missandei.

“I want you to be happy,” Daenerys said surprising them all. She held her stomach and staggered forward.

Missandei didn’t beam but there was a spark of hope brightening her eyes. “Do you mean that?”

Daenerys nodded. “I want you to be happy.” She repeated it a second time with tears running down her face. She brushed against Arya on her way to embrace the taller woman.

Arya watched them as she rubbed the back of her neck. 

‘I want you to be happy’ became Daenerys’ mantra as her shoulders shook in Missandei’s arms. They held each other for what seemed like an eternity and when they dried each other’s eyes they found Arya had taken up residence on the bed where Daenerys sat moments earlier.

Daenerys pressed her lips to Missandei’s cheek, her jaw, and finally her lips.

In a stronger voice drenched with intention. “I want you to be happy.” She guided Missandei to the bed and pushed to Arya’s lap. The brunette glared at the smirking Queen from over Missandei’s shoulder.

“Dany...” Arya warned. 

Missandei halted whatever she would have said next with a soft kiss. “Play nice,” the darker woman murmured.

Arya’s clit jumped from the request.

Missandei pecked her lips imploringly. “Please...play nice.”

The Stark’s center pulsated when Daenerys’ hand appeared from behind her to pull Missandei to Arya’s exposed neck. She had pulled the collar helpfully to expose the spot.

“She’s such a good girl isn’t she?” Daenerys whispered in the ear opposite of where Missandei licked and bit Arya.

The brunette couldn’t respond. The rush of something desperate made it difficult to speak. She couldn’t articulate the need warming her up and threatening to boil over. It was just as hard to keep her breathing under control. Arya clenched the fabric of Missandei’s dress. She felt nowhere near as close as she wanted to be. To remedy that she ducked her head to swallow a nipple straining against the dress’ fabric.

Missandei surged forward, caught her hand in Daenerys’ hair and pulled them into a deep kiss.

*

Play nice. The command was simultaneously sultry and mildly pleading. Arya listened and obeyed and now she was tangled in a mess of warm limbs. A sheet lay half on the ground and half covering Missandei’s caramel brown thighs. 

Daenerys’ nails glide over her chest aptly avoiding the sensitive areas. Arya can’t see her expression and she really wants to. Missandei had been tuckered out and immediately went to sleep. It didn’t help that Arya kept her up the night before. The Stark wondered at her own stamina wishing she was just as oblivious to the world except there was the matter of Dany’s nails, trailing lower.

The sun was still out. There had to be meetings she needed to attend. Instead, she basked in the afterglow and played with the hairs covering Arya’s sex.

Arya cleared her throat. She stopped herself from shifting away from the touch by balling her hands into a fist.

Too late. She felt Daenerys’ smile before she heard it. “Keep that up and you’ll send poor Missandei flying to the floor. You wouldn’t want to give her the impression you prefer me more would you?”

The Stark made sure Missandei’s breathing remained even. Lines of worry were non existent and not for the first time she envied the woman’s ability to sleep. 

Daenerys’ finger explored deeper into moist curls.

“I am curious about this cock she mentioned.”

“I’m sure a Queen has larger priorities like matters of policy and the people,” Arya struggled cursing inwardly when her legs spread invitingly.

“I’m right where I want to be,” she flicked a throbbing nub. She smile into a kiss planted on Arya’s collarbone when she hissed from the contact.

Arya inhaled and hummed.

“I enjoy when we fight,” Daenerys whispered. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like you like this.”

Arya turned her head for the first time in the Queen’s direction. A leg covered hers as Daenerys ministrations because earnest. She held herself up on one arm to watch Arya, study her pleasure up close.

“She believes in you,” Arya whispered catching Daenerys’ wrist.

“I won’t lose either one of you to each other.”

“Is this love?” Arya craned her head. “Or are you that devastated by the thought of people leaving you.”

They both knew the answer. They both were afflicted by the same impractical fear of abandonment. The pillars of their childhood had cracked, crashed, and burned on the whim of enemies. All they had left were memories and pieces of the people imbedded in them and painfully remind them they aren’t well, they might never be.

“I’d like to hear about this wonderful life you have ahead from your mouth.”

Arya squirmed.

Daenerys pounced. “Missandei makes it sound so...peaceful.”

“You’ve only known me as killer. Of course, it wouldn’t cross your mind that I could be anything else.”

“I want to know that this is your choice.”

Missandei murmured in her sleep and dropped her hand over Arya’s breast, claiming her even in her sleep. Daenerys glared at the offending hand. 

The Queen whispered. “Tell me.”

Arya huffed. “We’ll find a cottage.”

“Cottages are cold,” the pale woman mock shivered. “Missandei hates the cold.”

Arya ignored her. “There’ll be a garden with food and flowers.”

“You’re saying this with a straight face, but I know you’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ll be bored.”

“I’ll be with my family.”

“If you feel that strongly about family then settle down in Winterfell and raise Ned around the reminders of his namesake.”

“Missandei hates the cold, remember.”

“I don’t know whose a bigger idiot. And it pains me to say this because I have to retract the idea that I am a judge of good character.”

“You’re an abysmal judge of good character,” Arya teased.

“It started when I let you in my bed.”

“If anything I ended your string of underwhelming lovers. I put a smile on your face that only the thought of world domination could up until I ended up between your legs. You’re welcome.”

Daenerys kissed the top of Arya’s nose. “You’re impossible.”

“Aye.”

“And you really don’t know yourself if you’re going to give this all up to farm.”

“As opposed to serving the Queen?”

“You think you’ll serve her any better?” A pale brow rose in challenge. “You are brave, magnificently brave without a bone of heroism in you and you rise to the challenge even when it’s revenge that fuels you. But you’re foolish to think that without your revenge you can turn yourself into a farmer. You’re an idiot.”

Daenerys rolled away leaving Arya trapped under Missandei’s slumbering form. She collected her clothing and dressed with her back to the couple.

“I wouldn’t ask you to be what you aren’t. As I know you wouldn’t expect me to be any less determined to restore honor to the Targaryen name.” She lowered herself to Missandei’s forehead and hovered over Arya’s lips. “She may know you in ways you’ve never shown me. Whoever you are with her, I’d never fall for it. Maybe that’s why you’ve never shown me, you know I know better.”


	29. Chapter 29

Perhaps it was a stretch of the imagination to entertain the role of a farmer. Listening to Missandei’s sleep sounds after Daenerys practically stormed out only seemed to unsettle her even more. Arya felt trapped in the skin of a princess. She craved the coat of warrior. She coveted the wings of the dragons she read on her books. In some way she knew she’d never want to settle down, but it didn’t negate the need to be part of something that made her family’s memory proud.

Again it might have been a stretch that Arya had it in her. For most of her childhood she’d done nothing really worthy in the eyes of her parents. She was stubborn, plain faced, and angry. Those weren’t characteristics that preceded a legendary destiny.

In the dark, in the arms of the supple Targaryen she admitted to her wandering soul. Of course, she wouldn’t believe her. Of course she would believe she’s lying. However unconvinced she was and insecure Arya might have been, Arya wanted to try. There was more to life than revenge and killing and searching.

Sometimes she hated Daenerys. She hates her for her arrogance and that insufferable aura of omniscience. Arya knew herself, it repeated in her head like a chant. Not that he had to reassure herself, no. Her chest warmed from an anger within herself that Daenerys stoked.

She couldn’t be here. The air felt thin and she needed to get up. She needed to move because she was irrationally equating being beneath Missandei as being trapped.

She hated Daenerys. She slid away from the taller woman and found her clothes. They had been handled indelicately by both Daenerys and Missandei as they worked in tandem to undress her.

That had been on an hour ago. She rubbed her face. She didn’t want to be here when Missandei woke up. She didn’t want to be privy to that trusting expression she felt so unworthy of. It pained her to admit that she needed space for perspective, it was necessary.

She left a brief note, leaving her in bed without one felt wrong.

She was glad the halls were relatively empty in this wing. If she weren’t I head to the high traffic areas she’d see the guards, servants, and cooks doing their best to make the best out of the new changes. It was to be expected and her legs went in the opposite direction of the high traffic areas to unforgotten paths to places she’d roamed as a child. The kingdom had been a macabre little playground. 

Even if she chose Daenerys, this couldn’t be her home. These walls had seen too much of her in her unrealized shape.

Dumb kid, she scoffed to herself feeling a rush of embarrassment. She recalled just how dumb she had been. The principles of her father’s teachings crumbled at her feet when he died. The relevant pieces she kept for herself to use, the rest were just ornaments to supplement memories of him as a greater man than most.

She missed him. She missed him so much and it was that longing that prompted her to seek out Ned. It seemed Ned felt just as restless, his cries filled the wing. 

Her past could wait. She sought out her future. She didn’t ask how they’d found a crib or who it belonged to. Arya found herself standing over it, her presence had stopped the nurse from her designs to comfort him. Arya reached for him, brought him to her chest. He cried a little more and her legs did most of the work as her movements became a hybrid walk and bounce.

“You’re good at that,” the nurse complimented her when Ned’s howls settled into content gurgles.

Arya was good at killing, taking faces, getting revenge. She hadn't spent enough hours with this one to be anywhere near good at this. 

The nurse excused herself.

Arya bounced the boy with her back to the door as it shut behind the nurse.

“We haven’t spent a lot of time together, Ned. I can’t believe Missandei agreed to name you that. Then again...she loves me and when you love people you can’t deny them.” Fond memories of her father and brothers indulging her whim to be a knight filled her up. Alongside side them were the images of a long suffering mother. “Your grandfather and your uncles were very good at that. Your grandmother, she...she showed me love wasn’t always about indulgence. We rarely saw eye to eye about anything, but she was strong. That’s a theme in our family, strength. It’s not always as what you read about it in the adventure books, don’t worry I’ll read them first until you get the hang of it. Anyway, it’s easy to believe strength is all about size and power. No little Ned, I’ll let you in on a secret I learned before this war thanks to your grandmother, ‘True strength is in your commitment to get back up.’”

Little Ned twisted his head to the left. His eyes blinked at the billowing curtains. Arya adjusted her stance so he could examine the wind playing with it.

“You look like you’re going to be a curious one. That’s good, I’m curious too.” Arya spoke as she brought her lips to the side of his head. His fine hairs tickled her upper lip.

Arya gave up need an hour later. The nurse and Missandei pulled her out of her bubble. There was a meeting where she and the Naathi were summoned. Daenerys had deemed that she had left them alone long enough. Even though they decided they were going to leave, they adhered to the summons.

Their knuckles brushed together. Their pinks intertwined. Neither woman spoke of what transpired nor was it a discussion when they parted just before they entered the room where the small council convened. There were several titles left empty. In the coming month ls that would be rectified. The people would settle. The shock would lessen. The world would go on as it had with the added bonus of Daenerys sitting at the helm.

She was absent when Arya and Missandei entered. Their presence didn’t disrupt the side conversations that passed the time until the Queen arrived. It was well known Arya didn’t want to make a production of her role in ending the war. The closest that came to it were a few nods from the figureheads of the houses left standing. 

Daenerys arrival with her Unsullied guards created a shift in the air. Missandei fell in step as if she’d never left and never planned to leave Daenerys side. For her part the Queen paused on Missandei before she scanned the room. The face were in various stages of interest.

Arya’s interest in Missandei’s well being was divided between observing Daenerys’ state of mind and checking in on herself. The women were exotic, mysterious, and downright addictive in their own way. The tug to please one meant feeding into the insecurities of the other, being with both of them that afternoon hadn’t changed that impression. If anything, Arya thought it was dangerous to play those types of sharing games. 

When she wasn’t comparing Missandei’s quiet confidence to Daenerys seductive power she glared at Tyrion. The Hand was an artist, spinning words to meet the desires of the realm as if his motives were true. She could have him killed, no, she could kill him. The realm didn’t need more bloodshed and she would be gone soon enough and his loyalties wouldn’t be divided anymore with Cersei in a cage. Then there was the matter of the mission lion, Jaime Lannister. Where was he? Not that she expected his presence, it was unnerving to know not that long ago he plotted to escape with Cersei kicking and screaming.

The politics bored Arya senseless. The arguments surrounding the strategy to take King’s Landing had been replaced for arguments about money, land, aid, marriages, and titles.

She’s close to leaving before the meeting concluded. She doesn’t know why she was even pulled from her son. If Missandei wanted to find her that’s where she’d be.

“Are we boring you?” Jon whispered in her ear.

“Did my eyes glaze over?” Arya whispered back.

“Just about.”

They looked like children giggling in the corner. Daenerys glanced in their direction unamused, it sobered them up for only a moment.

“I don’t envy you Jon.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to spend the rest of you life getting that look if you don’t shape up.”

Jon’s smile lost his mirth. “That’s an odd thing to say, considering how you feel about her. Or is that you just throwing me off the scent?”

Arya’s mind went blank.

Jon’s smile escalated from mirthless to painful.

“Jon...”

“It’s my own fault. Before we...she told me I reminded her of someone else.”

“I’m with Missandei. We have a son,” Arya blurted forgetting to pretend they were paying attention to the verbal volley of the meeting.

“Yes, that you do.”

Daenerys wore the look earlier today, Arya saw it before she stormed out. It was a sad look and Arya felt a surge of anger at being the one Jon directed it to. He didn’t believe in her, either. Too much of their childhood consisted of her never sitting on one place. She shouldn’t be so angry, she had more self control than this. Though it would always bother her when other people claimed to know when she was and wasn’t being honest with herself.

“I’m going to be good to her.”

“Good.”

“You’re good for her,” Arya nodded to Daenerys.

“That sounds alarmingly like you giving me your blessing.”

“Yes. No, not really. But if I trusted anyone to protect her better than me, it’s you.”

“Is there something the Stark’s would like to add to our discussion in the interest of the North?” Daenerys’ voice sounded more imperious than usual.

“Forgive us, your grace. We were on the topic of loyalty.”

“Loyalty,” the Queen parroted dryly even more suspicious of the two Starks. “What about it?”

The leaders were done talking over one another. Their undivided attention went to the dark haired pair. They grim countenance did not mirror the amusement in Daenerys’ voice.

It was too late to backpedal. The siblings drove on. 

“The one who rules by your side should be unflinching in their loyalty to you,” Arya said. “There’s no room for fear, doubt, or good intention when their only intention should be to please you, your grace.”

Jon went further. “What better way to show the embodiment of that loyalty than a tournament?”

Arya forgot herself as the scent of a challenge filled the air. “Not some frivolous competition that puts a band aid on the devastation of this war, but a competition of good deeds. The one who rules by your side should be resourceful and generous in a way that brings great credit to the monarchy.”

Jon added. “There’s no place for selfishness. No one needs a leader who finds it easy to run.”

Arya bristled. “It should be someone who knows themselves in the face of all dangers.”

“We can find you a ruler while simultaneously strengthening the kingdom,” Tyrion grabbed his chin as his wheels were turning. “A distraction with a purpose beyond spending coin we don’t have.” He said aloud even though it was obvious to the group was talking to himself.

Daenerys wore a look bordering on impressed. “Who would compete in this tournament?”

Missandei’s lips pursed sending Arya a worried look.

“Champions from the great houses.”

“Everyone wants the crown, but no one wants to get their hands dirty,” Arya glared at the finely dressed Lord from who called suggested it.

“Not all of us have the stamina to be the Hero of Winterfell and the capturer of Cersei,” he puffed out his chest. His beard was white and his eyes were cold. “King’s Landing has thrived on the mental dexterity and wisdom. That will make King’s Landing great again.” 

Arya shot back unimpressed. “If not for stamina how do you suggest to satisfy the will of a Queen in her prime?”

“Tyrion,” Daenerys used his name to table the table. “I have full confidence that you can delivery a competition that meets the needs of anyone I would rule beside.”

The wheel paused long enough for Tyrion to acknowledge her statement and the small entourage she took with her.

Arya couldn’t help that Missandei wouldn’t look at her when she followed Daenerys out. Only then did her mind catch up to what her mouth had done.

Damn.


	30. Chapter 30

The day is bright. It’s warm. People are drunk somewhere and laughing. Other people wear grim countenances as they think of the days ahead, uncertain.

Daenerys feels that uncertainty coiling around her. She wished she didn’t. It’s there and she feels it every time she moves. It’s emphasized by Missandei’s pregnant silence.

“You’re quiet,” she said over her right shoulder. It was comforting to have her there.

“Yes, your grace.”

“You’re upset.”

Missandei didn’t answer quickly enough. Daenerys made an abrupt stop in the hallway. She turned on the taller woman and spoke in Valyrian.

“Are you upset with me?”

“It would make as much sense for me to be upset with a rose for being beautiful and wanted.”

“You knew she cared for me.”

“Cares for you,” Missandei corrected her. “It’s not lost on me that her affection is very present.”

“You would still pursue a family with her, knowing how she still feels about me?” Daenerys held onto the word ‘still’ as she studied the damage it caused.

“It doesn’t mean she loves me any less. She’s just slept with you longer.”

“You sound like you’re unafraid to be my rival.”

“I am afraid. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re saying this because you think I’ve lost?”

“She chose me, your grace,” Missandei lowered her chin to soften the blow. “Whatever that was back there is for her and I to deal with,” she said and continued more confidently, “But you can’t believe that she would stay here, not in this place.”

“No more than I believe she’ll farm for a living to make you happy,” Daenerys shot back.

Missandei’s smile is weak and contagious as they both imagine Arya bent over crops and stabbing dirt.

“We were on a farm when we figured out, how we felt about each other,” Missandei chewed the inside of her lip. “It was nice, peaceful.”

“We all yearn for the bliss where we can forget our responsibilities, our desires, our destiny.”

“You think she betrays her destiny by being with me?”

Daenerys took no pleasure in twisting the knife, but if it needed to be done, she might as well be the one to do it. “You think she’s fulfilling it being with you?”

“Neither of us can speak on her destiny.”

“Then I’ll speak on mine and yours because we are tied together.”

“I am free.”

“Because I made it so, as The Breaker of Chains.”

“I owe you my life,” Missandei exhaled sharply. “I owe you everything. I’ll never forget what you saved me from. I would never be so ungrateful to forget.”

“Do you haven’t forgotten?”

“Of course not,” Her hands wrapped around her stomach. “As much as it feels good to love Arya, it hurts too. I know what it means for her to choose me. I know it means that we may never recover.”

“And you still drive on?”

“Yes!”

Their raised voices filled the hall and carried to other rooms with curious ears. No one would interrupt, no one would dare investigate. And Arya wasn’t close enough to hear them or she couldn’t have guessed and intervened.

“Yes,” Missandei said. Her lips trembled and her glance went to the guards, who looked outward to stop any uninvited bodies. 

She wouldn’t cry. The point of tears were useless, Daenerys wouldn’t accept defeat out of pity for Missandei. She wouldn’t accept defeat, the translator repeated in her head, her heart breaking. She’d never seen Daenerys quit. Now that she had the throne, the woman was so used to fighting, she wouldn’t relax her teeth on this issue because she’d won a war. 

Missandei suspected they made for an awkward scene. She wiped at her face and clasped her hands in front of her as she calmed her thoughts. She waited for her heart to beat slow again.

“I would do anything for you,” Missandei admitted. “But I know you’re a better Queen than one, who would demand I walk away from her.”

“I would demand it,” Daenerys paced briefly. “If I did, that’s just as bad as losing her to you. She wouldn’t want me after that.”

“I know.”

“You take comfort that I can neither deny you or win against you?”

“I take comfort in it.”

“Thank you for not lying.”

“I would never lie to you, your grace.”

Daenerys was tired. There were more meetings, egos to soothe, and seven kingdoms to rule. Tyrion was in the process of figuring out the competition that only her true match would excel. It was odd that she would even feel the need to argue with Missandei over Arya. However irrational it was she couldn’t help herself.

She didn’t want either woman to leave. She didn’t know how to cope with that. She pulled the woman into her arms without warning. She burned her hands over her backs then to her sides.

“You don’t want to hurt me, but this hurts me,” she admitted in a voice she would only allow a handful of people to hear.

It wasn’t regal or confident. It was the voice from her childhood that creeped out when she felt her most vulnerable. It wasn’t childlike, it was lost.

“Your Hand will conjure a competitor, the likes this realm has never seen and you’ll be in the arms of someone truly worthy of you, your grace.” Missandei rubbed circles on the other woman’s back.

“What if...” Daenerys shook her head. She pulled away and shook her head as she talked herself out of what she almost said.

“Your grace?”

“Nevermind,” she laughed at herself.

Missandei tried to pry it out of Daenerys when they began walking to Daenerys’ chambers. They had three hours before it was time to eat. Daenerys lay down with a book open on her bed while Missandei was busy in her closet. 

“We shared her once,” Daenerys looked at the wall while the noise from the closet settled to silence.

Missandei appeared at the opening of the door.

Daenerys repeated with a hopeful shrug. “We shared her once.”

“We did. It was nice.”

“It could be nice again.”

“That sounds...complicated.”

“And the complication doesn’t go away if she chose just one of us. She loves me. She loves you. Even if she leaves with you, Missandei, there will be nights where you’ll wonder how many times she had to stifle my name during your love making.” Daenerys looked back down at the book.

“I wouldn’t think like that.”

“You already are.”

“Your grace, you brought it up. Of course I think about it.”

“Even if I had not brought it up, you would. Because I would think the same thing.” Daenerys raised up on her knees. “She is a Stark.”

Missandei set her jaw.

“Duty and honor are in the veins that pump blood into her heart. She isn’t Arya Stark without it and she’ll hurt herself to do the right thing because she’s Ned Stark’s daughter. She’ll leave with you and Little Ned. She’ll love you and your life as much as she can after knowing and seeing so much more...”


	31. Chapter 31

Neither Arya nor her brother was in a sharing mood. They’d grabbed wine, one for each, and they listened to the sound of the castle settle. The council room had been abandoned and they took up residence in the chairs to reminisce, talk shit, drink, and make light of their rivalry.

“You did it on purpose,” Arya accused.

“You did it to yourself. No one told you to be so damned competitive,” Jon almost kicked her foot off the table.

She caught herself, glaring at her brother.

He took an unapologetic gulp. “Serves you right for making my life hard. This love thing would be effortless had my little sister not charmed the Daenerys Stormborn.”

“I can’t believe you never said,” Arya shook her head. “I can’t believe you knew.”

“Not at first. It didn’t take long to figure it out.”

“And you figured it out. You’re smarter than you look.”

Jon almost choked. He wiped at his mouth and over his beard. “I can’t believe you never said.”

The smaller Stark shrugged her shoulders. “By the time you two got together...it wasn’t important.”

“Is this why you’re not with her?”

Arya inhaled. She tapped the bottle with her nail as she said one name. “Missandei.”

Jon hissed.

“To be fair, I felt a connection with her before Daenerys. However, Daenerys has more experience with going after what she wants.”

“There’s no version of Daenerys that would have taken that well.”

“I’m well aware.”

“So you ended it?”

“At the advise of her all knowing Hand, Daenerys ended it. Then you come in dear brother. Handsome, rugged, battle scarred, and brooding... basically the male version of me,” she said before she tipped back the bottle of wine she’d been nursing. 

It spilled on her lips when Jon kicked at her feet again. They both broke down into a fit of laughter, which how Tyrion found them holding books under his arm.

“Just the two I wanted to thank,” he eyed the tipsy duo. “You do realize this is a place of importance where decisions about the well being of the realm are discussed.”

“It’s room with chairs and wine,” Arya said irreverently.

“You wanted to thank us, Tyrion?” Jon gave his sister a strange look as he spoke to the smaller man.

“Yes,” he said also lookin at Arya oddly. His gaze tracked to the books under his arm. “Brilliant idea, the tournament.”

“Brilliant? I am smarter than I look,” Jon murmured into the bottle.

Arya scowled sitting hers on her stomach. “Don’t get too excited, it was half your idea.”

“It was an unrealized idea, that I think will be challenging enough to reveal the heart of the man worthy of Daenerys.”

“Or woman,” Arya dropped her feet on the ground to turn to Tyrion. 

Tyrion looked at Jon first for aid. When he found none he looked at the bottle in Arya’s hand before he excused himself.

“Arya, leave it,” Jon ordered when she stood to follow. He called out her name again to no avail. He didn’t follow her until he heard books crashing and Tyrion. “Arya, enough,” he said sounding stern and sober.

She didn’t want to release him. She was close enough to reopen his scar with her teeth. She was almost drunk and angry enough to try. Jon’s calming hand stopped her from giving into her rage. She didn’t like to drink. She was a horrible drunk and it was the tightness in her chest that twisted her emotions, that made her raw and feel useless.

She wanted to feel safe again. She clung to that and acted on that desire as she releases Tyrion and walked away from her brother. She’d been so happy moments ago, as artificial as it was, it felt nice to joke with her brother. It felt good for him to know that she loved Daenerys and to know that she still had feelings for her. Only they could laugh at the strange world they were in. Then Tyrion had to ruin it, showing his face and tossing his daggers of judgement at her bottle, as if he had any room to judge.

She had to get as far away from Tyrion as possible. Arya used the wall as she walked to her safe place. It felt like the longest journey getting to the room. 

She used the moonlight to undress. When she was done she felt for the beginning of the sheets. She felt skin instead. Then a hand closed around her wrist, a woman’s hand, she had to say to herself so she wouldn’t react violently. This was her safe space she reminded herself as she lowered herself into welcoming arms.

“You’ve been drinking?” Missandei said.

“With Jon,” Arya snuggled closer.

“You’re going to regret it in the morning,” Missandei wasn’t sympathetic. And Arya didn’t expect her to be.

“Let’s discuss it in the morning,” the brunette said absently.

Missandei ran her nails over Arya exposed back. “What kind of example is that to set for our son?”

Arya’s eyes pop open. Something was wrong and she was too drunk to understand exactly what it was. “I rarely drink.”

“It only takes a handful of times to see you like this. He might think this is what love is, coming back to me drunk.”

Arya slid away from the other woman. “I...I don’t understand.”

“I’m in a state of confusion myself. Is this what I have to look forward to? When you come to me after you’ve drowned yourself in wine, is that really smart, you might slip up and say her name.”

“Whose name?”

“Hers.”

“Who is her?”

“Your Queen.”

Arya blinked. “My Que....”

She couldn’t see Missandei’s face well and she was glad. She imagined it looked ugly and pained.

“You had a good idea of what kind of suitor would be worthy of her. You sounded like the subject matter expert,” she threw a pillow in Arya’s face and pushed her out of the bed.

Arya was too stunned to save herself from the fall. She sat on the cold floor and looked over the bed to see Missandei’s balled up silhouette. She dropped down the the side of the bed with her head on the pillow. A blanket was thrown unceremoniously and without warning.

Arya adjusted the blanket under and around her body. She didn’t know how long it’d been when she heard the bed shift. She didn’t think too much of it to move her gaze from the ceiling until Missandei’s face popped into view.

“Are you okay?”

“You kicked me out of the bed. You called me a drunk and a bad influence on our son. You said I didn’t love you.” Arya raised up on her elbows. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Missandei shook her head.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m a fool.”

Arya exhaled. “Yes, what of it.”

Arya defended herself from the hand reaching out to assault her with a pillow. She grabbed it and used the momentum to pull Missandei down with her. 

“None of that,” Arya ripped the pillow from her and held the Naathi protectively. “I’m sorry for coming here drunk.”

“I’m sorry for kicking you out of the bed.”

“Well, look where it’s got us. This isn’t one of your worse ideas,” Arya kissed her nose. 

“I love you Arya Stark. I act this way because I love you.” She dropped her head to the other woman’s chest when she brought the other blanket over them. 

“I know,” Arya held her tighter.

*

Missandei left early to continue her inspection and interviews of the prior staff. Arya checked in on Ned before she left him with the nurse. Her next stop, she prepared herself choosing the time Daenerys usually bathe to confront her.

Missandei had been forgiving and remorseful. She accepted the first while Arya was confused about the other. The Naathi hadn’t been forthcoming, leaving Arya to investigate.

“What did you say to Missandei?”

“Hmm?”

Arya crouched at the edge of Daenerys’ bath. She touched the water before flicking it to the side. Her nose wrinkled and she repeated her question again.

Daenerys waded closer, she stopped inches away from Arya’s figure. “We were discussing your future as a farmer.”

“You were unfair and mean?”

“No,” Daenerys lifted her head from her folded arms. “I was honest.”

“You don’t have to be cruel about this,” Arya is startled by the softness of her voice. 

She’d come here angry, ready to rage at the Queen. Arya was suddenly too tired for that, deciding to try something new. She picked up the towel for Daenerys and held it out to her.

“Thank you,” Daenerys wrapped the towel around her. 

Daenerys settled on a nearby chair, crossing legs and propping her forearms on the chair arm, Arya recognized her posture. She pulled it off, at least Arya’s body thinks so when a shot of arousal hits her.

“You shouldn’t make the people you care for cry. You only make it difficult for them to love you.”

“If they can’t handle me at my worst, they don’t deserve me at my best.”

Arya twists her mouth, fighting a smile.

“I amuse you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you mocking your Queen?”

“I adore your angry face. With the perfect combination of wit and mocking, there it is.”

“I could have you killed.”

Arya squinted. “Did you issue a similar threat to Missandei?”

“I was honest.”

“I hope it’s recorded for posterity. The Queen’s priority was honesty above all else. I hope you’re honest with me now. Will you release her? She won’t leave if you won’t give her your blessing.”

“What’s so great about becoming a farmer?”

“It’s honest work and I might not even become one.”

“How will you raise your family.”

“I don’t know.”

“That doesn’t scare you.”

Arya frowned.

Daenerys continued, “Of course, Arya doesn’t scare easily if at all.”

“You’re frightening me right now.”

“You’re filled with a fear, I’m sure is only rivaled by my disgust. I can’t stand to think of you living a life so far beneath your skill.”

“That disgusts you. I’m not asking for your support, I did give you a Kingdom and I expect to be repaid. She doesn’t want to stay here.”

Daenerys gazed burned into Arya’s. “I proposed that we should share you.”

Instead of answering, Arya clasped her hands behind her back. Tilting her head she looks for someone she recognized. When she gave up she’s taken four times toward her. 

“It gets harder and harder to recognize you under all of that self entitlement. For years your well being, your destiny, your place in history has monopolized the discussion. She’s devoted to you and you’re willingly using it against her? Don’t be cruel.”

“Cruel?” Daenerys repeats hotly. She up on her feet, her palm is ready and it’s trajectory to Arya’s cheek is stopped by an unamused wolf. 

“Stop it,” she spoke firmly.

“Cruel is trusting that you would fight for me.”

“I kept my word.”

“The hell you did.”

“Look at where you’re standing. You’re here because of me.”

“Thank you,” Daenerys shoved her. 

Arya let it happen. She let the slap that came after happen as well. It stung leaving an aggressive shade of red on her cheek.

“You made me trust you. You made me love you.” Daenerys deflated. “The both of you have burrowed so deep in me. If I could let go of you, I would.”

Arya’s closed her arms around Daenerys. The other woman’s hands were pressed against her chest. She didn’t fight the embrace and she didn’t completely succumb to it.

Her back straightened. The hands on Arya’s chest slid down to the start of her pants. Her nose rubs against Arya’s neck.

“That’s not going to solve anything,” Arya moaned.

Daenerys spoke into the brunette’s neck. “I told her you’d think of me when you were fucking her.”

Arya shift or remove the hand searching out skin.

“It would be mean not to warn her. I don’t want her leaving here under the impression you’d forget all about me.” Daenerys but her neck. 

Arya hummed. Her fingers dug into Daenerys’ towel.

“You’re wrong.”

“You’ll want more. How will you cope the day you figure that out? How will you tell her she’s not enough.”

“Why do you have so little faith in me.”

“Wrong,” Daenerys cupped her face. She kissed her chin, both her cheeks, and lastly her lips. It’s chaste and sad. “I have all the faith in the world that you’ll break her heart.”

Arya claims Daenerys wrists in a firm grip. “You’re wrong.”

“You wouldn’t be so angry if I was wrong.”

Arya’s mouth opened. Her eyes were wide and searching. She didn’t like what she found and asked weakly, “Do you feel better?”

“Of course not. I don’t want you to overestimate Missandei’s tolerance for heartbreak. I want to protect.”

“From me?”

“From someone who doesn’t know what they want.”

“I don’t want you like this. You’re better than this,” Arya cupped her chin.


	32. Chapter 32

Cersei is in a box. She’s only been allowed to stretch to relieve herself and bathe. The former Queen is treated quite humanely, considering her history of savage hospitality. Today she’s being escorted to her bath. The bucket they escort her to is nothing special or discreet, it was where they hung the laundry to dry. The first time she saw the bucket she has looked at it dumbly. Cersei caught on to what they expected, arguing was useless.

She didn’t strip. She took the sponge and focused on all the pertinent places. She’d crouched over the bucket with a sponge to her neck. The water looked used and her nose wrinkled at the smell. Her mouth felt suddenly devoid of moisture, she made sure to aim for the feet of the guard.

He hopped way too late, splattered by the junk in her insides. She hid her smile while she wiped her the corners of her mouth. She felt horrible, truly she did, but as long as she could spread a little of that misery she was delighted. 

Unfortunately, as was her luck for most of her life, he didn’t let her celebrate for too long. He dragged her by her hair. He pointed to his feet. He screamed in a language she didn’t understand and kept on pointing. He had complete control of her head, bobbing it up and down and forcing his soiled feet in her line of sight.

More yelling. She was going to vomit on him again, she did vomit again. He hit her this time and pulled head back by her hair. She imagined the translation wasn’t even better or worse than the colorful titles she’d received before this chapter of her life. 

Her life had gotten truly pathetic if she was weaponizing morning sickness. Was is that long ago when she a wave of a finger ensured a man would be ripped inside out.

Spit flew into her face.

“What’s going on here?” 

Tyrion, she groused, unwilling to acknowledge the sag in her shoulders as relief. At least the yelling stopped and along with it the rainfall of saliva.

The guard said nothing, settling for open hostility to Tyrion. She was happy to see some things hadn’t changed. Tyrion ordered him to bring her along. Her vomit was drying on her clothes as the guard deliberated that order. He wasn’t loyal to just anyone. He was loyal to Daenerys. He didn’t respect his title, his fine clothes, or the look of authority Cersei found lacking.

Tyrion spoke again. This time he mentioned Daenerys. Cersei couldn’t be sure of the nature of it, if it was a threat. Blood pounded in her ears. She just knew her hair would give and she’d be a bald mad covered in vomit. Oh yes, she’d fallen so far. 

While she was focused on the pain and humiliation she felt herself being raised up by the arm. Soon, she stumbled in whatever direction she was pushed with her brother’s little legs dictating the pace. It felt like an eternity before she was thrown into Tyrion’s personal chambers. Her brother directed her towards a basin filled with fresher water than the bucket. There was a change of clothes and a makeshift wall for her privacy.

“What is this?”

“I don’t expect you want to go back into the cage in your condition. It’s going to be a little cold, you were supposed to have your bath here. Something was lost in translation.”

Cersei snorted.

The guard left with a Dothraki phrase neither of them understood. 

When they were alone she drew closer to the basin. “Where is he?”

Her chest expanded with a mix of hope and affection. It’s unfounded and she can’t help it, holding out for a rescue.

Tyrion rubbed his chin. “He’s gone. He left.”

“You’re a liar.”

“I told him to go.”

“He wouldn’t listen to you.”

“He did listen,” Tyrion leaned against the bed frame. 

Cersei disappeared behind the wall. Not long after her clothes are heard falling to the ground, then sounds of water.

“You’re enjoying this?” Cersei said from the other end of the room.

“No.”

“I know what power feels like. All the people who laughed at you aren’t laughing anymore. You shut them up, that feels good, don’t deny it.”

“You haven’t shut up.”

Water splashes.

“Where did he go?”

“I didn’t ask. I thought it best that I didn’t know.”

Silence.

Tyrion cleared his throat. The sound was the visual manifestation of the war within him. “I told him I’d look after you for the baby’s sake. I told him I’d raise the child.”

“In what world did you think I would allow it?”

Tyrion’s lips pursed as he heard his sister bathe. “This one, where my kindness is the only hope you have to give birth. The only hope for your child to have a decent life. You’ve been many things Cersei...you’ve always been a loving mother.”

“I stand by what I said when you brought it up to your bitch Queen. I’d rather die. Save your kindness.”

“You’ve always been consistent, dear sister.”

“Don’t call me that,” Cersei croaked. She had her knees tucked under chin.

“I won’t call you my enemy,” he stated softly.

Both siblings contribute to the silence, lost in their guarded thoughts. It’s not comfortable, it just is, so when Missandei interrupts them they are both startled by her intrusion.

*

From the corner of her eyes, there’s movement. Tyrion has company and doesn’t comment on it. Her mouth is left open when Cersei emerged clothed and sickly looking.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Tyrion shook his head, waving off her concern. He asked for her to tell the guard to escort his sister back to her cage. When Missandei returned with the guard behind her, Cersei held a piece of bread in her hand and she was chewing on cheese.

“How goes the interviews? Is there anyone from the staff we can keep?”

“Luckily your sister wasn’t the most popular woman. I have my doubts about a handful of them, but they can be easily replaced.”

“Excellent,” Tyrion slapped his hands together. “Was there something else?”

“Her grace...”

“What about her?”

“She put you in charge of the tournament? How goes that?”

“It goes, I’ll have something concrete by the end of the week. You know her best, do you have suggestions?”

Missandei shook her head stepping to the table where Cersei grabbed the bread and cheese.

“I hear congratulations are in order. You and Arya...I never thought she’d be your type.”

“You’ve contemplated my type?”

“No. Yes, purely as an exercise of course. I spent a lifetime being the exact opposite of what most people want. Somewhere in all rejection I made it a skill to discover what they wanted.”

“Arya is strong, courageous, considerate, intelligent, determined, funny, gentle...” 

When Missandei trailed off Tyrion shares the attributes he thought were most prevalent on her character. “Blood thirsty, angry, calculating. The only resemblance to her parents are her Northern features. I knew her father and mother, I’m not sure they would approve of what she’s become.”

“Is it more honest to say that you don’t approve?”

Tyrion smiled. “We all have parts of ourselves we roll out for certain occasions. I’m sure Arya is as gentle and kind with you as you say.”

“She is.”

“And you have a son, now,” he couldn’t hide the skepticism in his voice. “I haven’t heard the pleasure of his origins.”

“His mother couldn’t take care of him. She asked that Arya and I do it.”

“You are an extremely gentle soul.”

“And loyal,” she brought up her chin.

Tyrion stuttered before he found his rhythm again. “No one would day otherwise.”

“Are you loyal to Daenerys? You were put in this position with a lot of unresolved issues with your family. Do you fear that it might sometimes make you do and say unreasonable things?”

“I am loyal to Daenerys.”

“Arya hasn’t said anything to the Queen. I asked her to let me speak to you first.”

“What is this about?”

“You were going to distract your Queen with lies as your brother and sister escaped. Arya told me, she was here.”

Tyrion’s mouth flapped open. She saw him searching for her lie while simultaneously trying to pin point when Arya would have heard it. She toyed with the spoon on the table, spinning it with a lazy finger.

“Do you deny it?”

“Missandei we won the war. We should focus on the people, they’re hurting and scared and paranoid. They need to see Daenerys as the benevolent ruler we know she is.”

The Naathi picked up the spoon. “She is benevolent. And she is just.”

Justice by fire, there was nothing like it.


	33. Chapter 33

Arya was sweating. Grey Worm’s chest was heaving. The sun beat down on them and the other bodies training in the afternoon. The war was won, but that was no reason to avoid straining their muscles and working their lungs mercilessly.

They took a seat on a wooden bench. Both had landed considerable blows that would leave pronounced bruises. Jon has declined Arya’s invitation to spar. Grey Worm had Ben the first person she approached in the pit. 

The friendly sparring had grown too vicious too quickly to ignore they both had something to prove. Arya licked her lips and Grey Worm pursed his lips, not necessarily enemies when they’re blades met.

On the bench Grey Worm was the first to speak. “You gave her a child.”

Arya scratched her shoulder as she shrugged it. “You could say that.”

“I couldn’t give her that.”

Arya didn’t speak.

“I wouldn’t know how to give her a family.”

“I don’t know how either. I’m willing to try. I look back at my parents, my brothers, and Sansa...I was happy. I know I can find it in myself to give that to little Ned.”

“Can you?” Arya met his curious brown eyes seeing no challenge or incredulity.

“I’m not doing this alone. Missandei is already good at it, with him.” Arya looked off her gaze landed on a wall of weapons. “She’s good with me.”

“It sounds like she will do all the work.”

Arya scoffed. “I’m ended a war and I’ve avenged my mother and father and so much more because I wasn’t afraid of work.”

“Killing a man is easy. Loving a woman is hard.”

Arya’s face folded. The man of few words had said something that almost inspired a flippant comment. She stopped it as the seed took root. In the seconds it began to grow and a familiar feeling came from childhood whenever she was faced with something new and uncomfortable.

Grey Worm walked away. He didn’t spare her a second glance. He didn’t offer his blessing, not that she expected it. The warning in his tone was telling enough. He didn’t believe that she could give Missandei the family she wanted. 

Her head bowed. She tucked in her chin as she wiped sweat from her upper lip with her tunic. Anger was easy. Seeing her father murdered in front of a jeering crowd and the noble walls of her family’s legacy crumble, anger was easy. It made a stubborn girl determined to survive and inflict a plague of pain on her enemies.

Her chest felt warm with rage just thinking about it. It burned colder than the heat ignited in Missandei’s presence and the fire under the surface of her skin when Daenerys was close. She blinked then let her legs carry her away from clashing metal, grunting men, and a perceptive Grey Worm.

She walked with her head down. Her hands clasped behind her back. Her brows were folded in and Grey Worm’s words bounced around in her head.

Killing a man is easy. Loving a woman is hard.

So much blood on her hands. So many faces she studied as the light went out of their eyes. So much joy lived in her in those moments. If she told Missandei Arya could imagine that gentle expression of understanding. Under it is her confusion. She can’t understand Arya’s joy, but she’ll accept a killer in her bed and build a family with her. She’ll do that because what Arya will be is more important than who she was. 

Arya didn’t feel like she’d lost that person. She was tired and perhaps it’s because there’s no real rest on the journey to vengeance. Yes, she was very tired. And Missandei was a beacon she thought she might ever deserve. 

“What has The Hero of Winterfell lost in thought?” Daenerys said walking from the opposite direction.

Arya’s attention jerked to the queen. Her guards were on her heels and anything she might have said felt too personal to share. 

“Leave us,” Daenerys ordered without taking her careful eyes off Arya. Retreating footsteps echoed in the distance. A second went by then two and neither one of them looked away. “Tell me.”

“I’m....” Arya began walking again. A slow pace with no destination in mind. “I just left the sparring yard.”

“You smell like it,” Daenerys half teased.

“I haven’t seen my son all day.”

Daenerys matched her steps with the assassins. 

“I’m a horrible parent aren’t I?”

Daenerys stopped her. The hand on her forearm went one step further to drag her to the wall. “What’s wrong?”

Her tone was demanding. She expected an answer. Missandei would have exercised more patience.

“I can protect her from anyone, from anything. I can protect her,” Arya’s jaw set as her eyes became unfocused. “What if I’m...what if I keep forgetting to do something so simple as check in on my kid.”

Daenerys presses her hand on Arya’s chest. “You don’t want to be a farmer.” 

Her tone was too playful. Arya immediately became angry. She took a step that Daenerys halted with the hand that pressed Arya against the wall. Her mouth twisted into something pained until she dragged an apology from somewhere.

“You gave him your father’s name. There’s meaning in every choice you make. You wouldn’t have done that if you ever thought you would fail.”

Arya’s face changed. Daenerys looked startled by her own words and her own belief in Arya to succeed in anything she put her mind to. To succeed in making a family. To succeed in leaving her.

She couldn’t take it back. She didn’t want to. It didn’t give her pleasure to hurt them, but it hurt just as much to watch let them walk away. 

“I haven’t been fair to you,” she said.

Arya frowned trying to catch up with Daenerys juxtaposition from demanding to apologetic.

“I’m not the only one you need to apologize to.”

Daenerys hesitated. “I’ve barely come to terms with my...I could have handled this better, but can you blame me. My two favorite people are moving on and I...I don’t want to imagine a life with either one of you.”

Arya sagged against the wall. Her hand grabbed the wrist of the hand still pressing her against the stone. Her fingers caressed it causing Daenerys’ gaze to lower to the gentle thumb.

“It’s hard to imagine for me too.”

“Then stay,” Daenerys chose your to on Arya’s fingers. 

She didn’t dare look up as she braced herself for the word ‘no’. When enough time passed for the tension in her shoulders to leave she dropped her head on Arya’s chest.

The assassin spoke in Daenerys’ hair. “It’s not just my choice to make. And that won’t be a productive conversation until you apologize to the woman who needs to hear it the most.”

Daenerys didn’t move and as Arya held her close, she thought of her son and the two women in her life that soothed her demons.


	34. Chapter 34

Jaime hadn’t felt calm or completely rested since it happened. He lived in the shadows of the Red Keep, eating what he could get his hands on from the kitchen. He used his time to study the guards routines, he watched his enemies celebrate over Cersei’s capture, he watched his brother straddle the line of loyalty for his family and his queen.

His poor brother. Jaime could ask for his help again. That would mean harder choices for his baby brother. He’d shouldered enough in the name of his and Cersei’s love. The least he could do is develop a plan on his own, leave his brother out of the mess he was about to make. Tyrion would be suspected when they discovered Cersei gone. The part of him that felt guilty putting his brother in that position, had full confidence that Tyrion would survive. 

He followed the queen’s advisor, the foreigner with the curly hair. She seemed valuable. Perhaps she had enough value to pull off a trade. She had a baby too. He hadn’t thought of hurting a child in a long time, but it seemed like he wasn’t above it. He’d developed a conscience and some humility since he’d lost his hand, not that it made his life better. Cersei disliked him on a good day. It was hard to love her when she was drunk on her rage and her wine and her vengeance. His sister thought the whole world had to suffer, except that wasn’t true. 

He glided in behind Missandei when she entered her bedroom. Her back was turned as she leaned down to pick up her baby. 

The world didn’t have to suffer, happiness could be acquired with only a few strategic deaths. He closed the door behind him. The sound alerted the darker woman to his presence. Jaime withdrew a dagger from his hip. He used the hilt to push back his hood. Her surprise came from the white of her eyes.

Jaime’s attention left the mother to the child, fussing.

“Shut him up.”

Missandei bounced him around until a smell wafted from his backside. “He needs to be changed.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he ordered. He moved with her when she headed to the bed to change the baby. His face folded when she unveiled the source of a horrendous smell. “How can something so small do that?”

Missandei worked quietly on her knees. 

“I’ve come for my sister.”

Missandei smiled at the gurgling baby blissfully unaware of the danger in the room. She kissed the small fingers. There was a basket where she tossed the soiled cloth after she’d wrapped Ned in a new one.

“I don’t see what my son or I have to do with your sister,” she said, not unkindly. She kept kissing on Ned finding comfort in his soft hands and hoping she didn’t give off how anxious she felt.

“You look like the kind of woman who's been a pawn before.”

“You’re going to have to kill us both.”

He hadn’t expected to hear that and it showed.

Missandei studied him. “That’s not the expression of a man ready to kill an unarmed child.”

Maybe in another life, Jaime sighed. It was a lifetime ago when the title Knight meant something. When he fought for thankless peasants and loved an equally thankless woman because...he didn’t dare dwell on it. He shook himself awake taking a measured step towards the woman holding the bab to her chest.

“How about this?” he spoke from the back of his throat as his face darkened.

She took a step back as if she believed him. A hand covered the fussing baby protectively, though an arm wouldn’t protect him or her from Jaime’s blade. He took three more steps and then they were breathing the same air. She looked up at him defiantly, it broke his heart to see it. He’d come in contact with that face more times that he ever wanted to. At first it had been cute, endearing on Cersei’s adolescent face. Then it became sultry and incited a fire in him that no one but his sister could sate. Now it hurt him to see it, even on this woman’s face.

“I just want my sister back. You and your son can go free when I’m done with you.”

“I don’t believe you. That’s why you should go ahead.”

“Is this the idiocy that won your queen her throne? And Army of idiots willing to go to die for her.”

“You’ll use me to rescue your lover. You’ll use me to leave King’s Landing because I have value as your hostage. I would make the Hero of Winterfell hesitate. I would make the Mother of Dragons hesitate. When you and Cersei have a good head start you might want to make good on your promise and let me and my son go. Will Cersei pass up the opportunity to hurt Daenerys one more time? Would you go back on your promise then just to appease her?”

Jaime shrugged. “You’ve got a healthy imagination.”

“If I’m going to die anyway I’d rather still have you in striking distance for Daenerys and Arya. You won’t make it to the morning, not when Cersei’s in a cage at the mercy of whatever they’ll do to her when they find my son and me dead.”

Jaime was both amazed and dismayed by the shrewd narrative that just rolled off her tongue. She had taken the one step back, that’s it. That was the only clue that she was playing the role of a woman who could say such harsh things with conviction. Could she really stand here in front of Jaime, The Kingslayer, and dare him to kill her and her baby? He used the full force of his body to send her flying into the chair next to an uneaten lunch. He dug the bone of his knee into her leg and pushed the dagger into the baby’s chin.

Ned cried. No, wailed as if he understood for the first time what kind of danger he was in. 

The baby’s blood stained the blade. Jaime didn’t react to the sound, surprisingly neither did Missandei.

“What kind of mother are you?”

“If you’re going to do it...do it quickly.”

He dug his knee into the meat of her leg. Nowhere for her to move to adjust. Nowhere for her to retreat. She’s right. This shouldn’t be torture. This shouldn’t be something drawn out for the sake of...for a moment he forgot why he’d come in. Why he followed her inside her bedchamber. Why was there baby blood on his blade again? 

For Cersei.

The statement filled him up. He was a man with conviction. Jaime was a man with his reasons and no one ever needed to understand those reasons for him to face the consequences. 

“Do it.”

“The things I do for love,” he growled, sinking the blade into Missandei. He grabbed the baby by the back of it’s shirt. It hovered in front of her as her face went ashen. Still she found the strength to reach for him. 

She fell on her stomach when he pulled the baby out of her reach. He looked around and huffed at the child. This wasn’t how he envisioned getting Cersei, but the dying woman would be enough of a distraction for him to free her. He carried little Ned with her as the foreigner croaked from the floor. 

“No,” she said, trying to reach for him.

He moved through the hallways. He couldn’t hold onto the baby for long and when he got rid of him he headed straight for the Iron Throne. He put the cloak back over his head. He stumbled into the chamber waving his hand erratically, yelling about a stolen baby and the trail of blood. 

He crouched in front of Cersei’s cage. In seconds he saw the recognition in her eyes. He winked.

*

Kill them both. Those had been D orders hours ago. Tyrion had flinched. She knew this because she’d been watching him the entire time. The castle had erupted into chaos when they found bodies bleeding on floors.

Cersei’s cage was empty. In the absence of the Lannister’s she wanted, Daenerys entertained fantasies of torture at the only Lannister present.

There were red smudges of blood on her dress. Missandei’s blood via Arya who insisted on staying by her side. Daenerys held her and whispered consoling words, she didn’t think Arya heard her. 

Kill them both, she’d ordered her guards in front of her advisor’s. That was the part where Tyrion usually spoke up as the voice of reason. His most recent argument stemmed from Cersei’s pregnancy. It wasn’t the child’s fault their parents made terrible life choices, but it would pay for it. Daenerys waited for him to speak. She wanted to hear his voice if only to lash out. They all knew who did this. Missandei was unconscious from blood loss.

Tyrion kept quiet. He didn’t give Daenerys what she wanted. Jon helpfully took charge as he began organizing the search. He suggested that Tyrion retire for the evening even though the sun showed no signs of setting for hours.

*

Arya learned up against the wall. Tyrion poured himself a drink before he almost choked on his first swallow.

“Arya.”

Her arms remained crossed. She made no move towards him. Dried blood covered her arms and her chest. 

“What are you….” he sighed, lifting his chin as if he stood a little taller, as if the move gave him the confidence to face her. “I didn’t know.”

“They found my son in a basket of dirty laundry.”

Tyrion sagged, relieved to hear the news. Arya’s jaw clenched.

“And Missandei...is she awake?”

“The guards said she visited you today. Did you think of this scheme before or after?”

Tyrion shook his head. “I had nothing to do with that. I would never betray her or you or Daenerys.”

“They are your family Tyrion. I understand that it’s easier to lie to me because you want to live.”

“I don’t want to die,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t hurt Missandei.”

“You wouldn’t need to with a Kingslayer for kin.”

Tyrion looked at her uneasily. 


	35. Chapter 35

The rats are scurrying. And Tyrion’s flames mar their faces, mostly overtaken by shadows, with orange light. His steps are soft to which Arya attributes to his size rather than training. He had volunteered to help. He suggested the tunnels she explored as a child. Jon trailed behind them. His presence wasn’t an absolute sign of support. She felt his eyes on her whenever she glared at the smaller Lannister or if she advanced on him.

The Lannister was so eager to prove his innocence. So eager to be stuck in the dark with a volatile Stark and one who wanted to preserve their search party. Neither man spoke. Arya wasn’t inclined to start a discussion. Neither of them would enjoy what she had to say.

Arya feels safe when most would shy away from the uncertainty of the dark. She knows how to handle her imagination and reign it in. Arya’s been taught to calm herself and listen.

Rage.

Her ears are buzzing. All other sounds are muted by the symphony of her rage. She hasn’t been this angry in a long time, but she still remembered the helplessness that chased it. She was scared. What if Missandei didn’t wake up. What would Arya tell Ned? That she was cursed and only capable of avenging a loved one instead of protecting them?

Arya dedicated a good deal of her adolescence learning to kill. By design of her circumstance she kept the intentional and sometimes inadvertent company of killers. They weren’t in the shape of noble knights. No, she recalled average men with swords and motivation gutting other men for the sake of their selfishness. Nothing seemed to align with the stories she coaxed out of her reluctant father.

Would Arya become a reluctant storyteller when Ned grew up? Would she twist her journey of vengeance into something more digestible for a child? Her father did and it had done her no favors. She’d been thrust in a cruel world where knights committed murder, kings were weak, queens were conniving, and the court were ravenous.

Daenerys promised to break the cycle. She saw a world where people were put ahead of profit and greed. Arya didn’t picture herself staying because she didn’t share Daenerys’ vision. Arya was self aware to admit her short sightedness came from watching her father die. She was cynical. That’s not someone a child should look up to. It’s not who she wants to be. There’s more to life or so she believed, once. It was so long ago she can’t even remember. 

Rage.

She wished that she could recover some of her awe and wonder. She’d never admit it to anyone, but she guessed Missandei knew. The woman had a gift to read people and even a stoic Arya hadn’t been immune. Like Daenerys the translator had a vision, nothing as ambitious as ruling the Seven Kingdoms. It was a small dream of raising a family and...

“Up ahead,” Tyrion said needlessly. 

The light at the end of a long tunnel illuminated the body of a Dothraki, one of Cersei’s guards.

“Poor bastard.”

Arya stepped over him and felt the sun on her face for the first time in hours. She gauged that there was only three or four hours of daylight left. The Lannister siblings needed safe passage from King’s Landing. Staying in the city wouldn’t be ideal, but they would have to if they couldn’t secure a boat. Then again, who would help them? Even if Daenerys hadn’t earned the loyalty of the people yet, a large majority wouldn’t even spit on Cersei if it helped her.

Jaime was smart. He wouldn’t waste his head start relying on the kindness of others. Arya imagined there would be more dead bodies.

“His blood is on your hands, Tyrion,” said Arya when she turned her back on the sun.

“If I was involved explain why I’m helping you search for them.”

“Guilty conscience.”

“Arya, we should get back,” Jon said over the Dothraki. “They took his dagger. Maybe a light weapon for Cersei to carry, they’re both armed.”

“A man with one hand and a pregnant woman armed with Dothraki steal...would anyone care to finish the joke?” Arya glared at a disinterested Tyrion and an unamused Jon.

*  
Not Missandei, she didn’t deserve to be gutted like a pig. Her life seemed to be a stream of experiences that contrasted with her gentle nature. Daenerys could relate. Most men wore their scars from battle on their bodies and their actions. For women their very nature changes and they become cruel like Cersei or protective of their gentleness like Missandei.

She really was the best of them. Daenerys guilt marinated. The unmoving translator had lost so much blood and been on the brink of leaving them. What was the last thing she said to her? Daenerys hadn’t been kind. She had acted spoiled an unforgivable trait for one who accepted the responsibility to rule.

She meets the Maester halfway when he comes out of the room, covered in Missande’s blood. Daenerys nodded her head as the maester explained Missandei’s condition. She looked at the door which housed the seemingly lifeless body. If not for her shallow breathing Daenerys might have thought otherwise. A guard pulled her attention away from the maester.

The maester left with strict instructions to send her word as soon as Missandei showed signs of recovery. Grey Worm relayed the search party’s discovery, the dead Dothraki and a few other bodies that the Lannister twins might be responsible for. He gave her a good amount of news and none of it helped her mood.

“Where is Tyrion?”

“He is confined to his quarters, your grace.”

“On whose orders?”

“Arya Stark hasn’t left his side. She interrogated him from the beginning and interrogated him, still.”

Daenerys bristled. Tyrion was her Hand. He was her responsibility and her kill if he was guilty of treason.

The queen walked with a purpose. Grey Worm had no trouble falling in step behind her. She was grateful for his silence and the conviction that encompassed her guards character. He was a good man and a victim to a cruel system that robbed him of his humanity. She had freed him him and Grey Worm and his brothers served her well.

She felt strong among them. She felt loved among them. This was the reward of being a ruler and she wanted to keep that feeling of warmth in her chest when she finally laid eyes on Tyrion. She had to remember to ask questions instead of sentencing him to die by fire. However easy revenge was it wasn’t an answer. Even Arya had calmed herself down enough to know that and pace outside of Tyrion’s chambers.

“Arya,” she called out to her.

Arya continued pacing as her gaze jumped to Daenerys. The queen wouldn’t be denied and walked in her path.

“You’re grace,” the brunette ground out between clenched teeth.

“You don’t have the authority to hold my Hand hostage.”

Arya exhaled roughly. “That’s what’s important to you right now?”

“I expect the respect and loyalty of all who fight for me. When you overstep I begin to assume that you think you know better.” She challenged unblinking. “Do you know better?”

Arya’s gaze flicked to Grey Worm and the handful of guards that they seemed to collect on their way to Tyrion’s quarters. The younger girl looked wounded by Daenerys coldness. It hurt to be unable to reach out and console each other.

“You haven’t been to see her yet,” this wasn’t an accusation, but her tone was still hard.

“I am not a healer. I trust your grace has the best maester with her.”

Daenerys sighed. She tried again. “I am told Ned is inconsolable. You haven’t left Tyrion’s side... would it not be better for your family if you were with them?” Daenerys said softer this time as if she were reasoning with an animal.

“I am good at this."

“You’re undermining my authority acting on your own like this. I know you’re in pain and maybe with how you were raised you don’t know any better. You have to be able to do more than kill for your family. You have to live for them, too.”

For the first time since Daenerys confronted Arya, the brunettes looked as if she’d deflated. It was as good a time as any to leave her to her thoughts. Hopefully she’d see her son if she was too raw to keep Missandei company.

Feeling as if she’d made progress with Arya she entered Tyrion’s room feeling accomplished. Grey Worm was close behind posting himself strategically between her and her Hand. Unconsciously or consciously, she couldn’t tell, Grey Worm shared Arya’s distrust. This was the kind of behavior she wanted to avoid. Tyrion hadn’t been he Hand for very long and she didn’t want to begin her reign by burning allies needlessly.

Tyrion had just picked up a book. He placed it beside shards of broken plates. He was in the process of putting his room together.

“What happened?”

“The young wolf volunteered to help redecorate,” Tyrion answered lightly with his face covered with troubled lines.

“I see.”

“If I knew where they were headed I would not hesitate to tell you.”

“Thus your family, Tyrion,” said Daenerys leaving it up to the smaller man to interpret what she meant.

“You’re my queen.”

“What does that mean to you?” Daenerys tilted her head studying the man who gave up on his room to focus on her. She continued, “I don’t expect to be put above the realm. I do expect I am elevated above its enemies, our enemies.”

“Without question, your grace.”

“We will find them Tyrion. If it’s discovered they are alive and you helped them...I don’t have to tell you what that means.”

“No, your grace.”

One final scan of the ruined room and she still couldn’t fathom the stoic Stark having a temper tantrum. She told Tyrion to have one of the servants fix his room, then she was gone missing the meaningful look he sent to the mirror on the wall near his bed.

Had she noticed his shame soaked expression she might have pushed more. And Tyrion might have given up the whereabouts of his siblings.

*

Cersei stood against the wall, listening. Jaime stood behind her with his chin on her head and his eyes closed. They’re hearts beat in unison as they understood the danger they were in.

How could they run? 

Cersei had convinced Jaime to stay put and threatened Tyrion to hide them in this small sitting room, she wasn’t supposed to know existed. It was a place to hide things or people specifically, hell, some of Robert’s favorite women had been housed there as a favor to the king by his most loyal Hand. Those were the days when Robert cared about the consequences of his actions and felt bad enough to try to hide his indiscretions.

“She’s gone,” Jaime whispered.

She hummed, happy to be in a roomier cage. 

Jaime guided her to a small couch and coaxed her on his chest. Neither of them said anything else for the next few hours. The tiredness that made them sag into each other was hard to ignore. The pride in being a Lannister had eroded and only caused them anxiety for the road ahead. Yes, they were together. However, they were too close to the dragon to celebrate the success of their deception.


	36. Chapter 36

Cersei couldn’t sleep. She had begun to calling her late husband’s storage closet a tomb. It was quiet besides Jaime’s snoring. He had insisted she stay close, which resulted in her current state of repose on his chest. Gazing at his protective hand sitting atop her stomach she counted the hairs on his hand. 

It was one way to pass the time since sleep escaped her. They couldn’t hide here forever. So many places to try to hide, but none filled her with confidence that they would truly be safe. If they were to flee they risked the wrath of a child with dragons. There was nowhere their child would be safe. 

With no Army, no influence, and no intention of living a life beneath her Cersei stopped counting the hairs on her brother’s hand. He would want to leave as soon as possible. It was smart to take advantage of Daenerys inept search party. Tyrion could help secure them transport and they could find a ship to take them far away from King’s Landing.

She didn’t like the act of imagining herself so far from the throne. Instead, she chose to entertain more delightful thoughts such as the fact that Daenerys’ enemies were close enough to slit her throat. Her heart beat jumped at the thought of being covered in the girl’s blood. She shivered causing her brother to pull on her a little tighter, as if to protect her from herself.

When he settled again she blinked at him. It would take some convincing, but she believed he could be convinced. He had changed, but not enough to forsake her. If she wished if she was sure he would do as she asked if only to show his devotion to her, he was romantic that way.

*

Arya frowned at her son. She envied him for being able to sleep so peacefully. Her frown softened a little as the baby gurgled in his sleep and seemed to seek out its fists. 

She acknowledged the innocuous shift with a small smile. How had she gotten so lucky? She couldn’t think that the sea of bloodshed had earned her a family, but here she was looking upon little Ned and Missandei who looked as peaceful when she slept.

The guilt she felt was immediate like an arrow in her chest. She hadn’t come down voluntarily. Someone had the bright idea that little Ned’s presence would be helpful to Missandei’s recovery. They even had several stacks of books to read to mother and son if anyone had the inclination to read. Arya had glared at the crib and the books not liking the idea of someone orchestrating this. She already felt out of control as it was. What would reading a book do? She remained obstinate for as long as it took her to get bored.

Arya picked at the corners until she pulled it into her lap. She flipped the pages aimlessly. Missandei and Ned wouldn’t benefit from her reading about dragons. Still, Arya found herself reading aloud in soft tones so as not to disturb them. Flashes of her mother doing the same thing came uninvited followed up by warmth then an ache. 

After a long sigh she quit reading. She tossed the book aside feeling embarrassed and melancholy.

“I was enjoying listening to you,” a voice said from behind her.

Arya turned her head to see Daenerys posted up against the wall. Arya hadn’t even heard her walk in.

“Your Grace,” she acknowledged the woman before turning back to her family. “Did you do this?” Arya missed the annoyance in her voice. She wished that she could conjure it and when she thought of their last interaction her body warmed instantly.

“This is your place.”

Violet eyes met calculating gray.

Arya snorted silently and whispered, “Isn’t that like royalty to dictate where people belong.”

Daenerys sighed. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“I wouldn’t dare challenge the will of the Queen,” she said mockingly finding a rhythm in her rage. “You’ll get no fight from me,” Arya lifted her leg resting her chin on top of it as she watched Missandei’s chest rise and fall. 

“It’s not just about you,” Daenerys admitted. “It was never just about you. I can’t imagine life without her,” said Daenerys as she gathered up her dress and knelt bedside the unconscious Naathi. 

Arya studied her as she caressed the woman’s cheek with the back of her hand. Daenerys’ behavior began to take shape in a way that didn’t anger Arya. If anything she was finally glimpsing the truth depth of emotion she had for the translator. 

“Does she know?”

Violet eyes lifted to Arya. Her eyes widened as if she’d been found out. She glanced back down and shook her head. “I don’t see how she could feel the same when she wants to leave me so badly and start a family with you? If it were my choice I wouldn’t want either of you to leave.”

Arya’s gaze lowered to her son. “You would take all three of us?”

“Yes,” Daenerys said resolute. “It would please me if you both would share my bed.” She continued, “He would have the best education that a life as a royal can offer. He would want for nothing.”

“This is a discussion she really should be awake for.”

Arya was aware that this was a chance to speak her mind. Daenerys seemed to sense there was more the normally reserved Stark wanted to say.

“Is that something you would want?” Daenerys met unwavering gray eyes waiting patiently for the assassins answer. “To build something...to be a family with me, Ned, and Missandei?”

“Your Hand is coming up with a competition for your hand in marriage is he not?” Arya dropped her head again. “There doesn’t seem to be any room in your world for my ‘wants’.”

“And if there were room?” Daenerys continued to stroke Missandei’s unresponsive forehead.

Even if it meant that she was giving in easy Arya unfolded from her seat and she joins Daenerys. She lowered herself with her legs spread for the other woman to settle in. She let the Queen rest her weight on Arya. She liked this closeness. The Queen was still within reach of the woman in bed and grabbed her hand. 

Arya kisses the side of Daenerys’ head as she inhales the other woman’s scent.

“You shouldn’t trust Tyrion so blindly.”

“I’m the daughter of the Mad King. I don’t have the luxury of killing off everyone I have doubts about.”

“So you do agree with me?”

Arya missed the eye roll. “Can we just sit here quietly?” 

Arya responded with another kiss to Daenerys’ head. They sat like that for only a few moments before Arya felt the other woman’s breathing changes. She looked up in time to see questioning brown eyes. They titled down to her hands then back to Arya.


	37. Chapter 37

“Ar...ya,” Missandei’s frowns because the name doesn’t come out right to ears. She hates that she isn’t able on reach for Arya. She hates that it takes so long for Arya to get to her to her.

Arya struggles with the Targaryen using her as a human sized pillow. It’s Daenerys’ hand she’s holding. At first she mistakes it for Arya’s as she closed her hand around it, but they’re too soft. Arya’s hands are weathered with calluses from hours of strenuous training.

Arya tried to scramble to her. In her excitement Daenerys isn’t woke. Up gently.

“Daenerys,” Arya’s voice is rough with emotion as she shook the older woman awake. One violet eye then two opened in recognition when Arya whispered. “Look whose awake.”

Little Ned, not one to be forgotten made himself known. Missandei lifted a hand to reach for him as her eyes filled with longing Arya reacted to immediately. 

“I got him,” Arya pulled him into her arms. She bounced him up and down. “It’s okay. I’m here. Your mother is here. Dany’s here,” she said easily.

“Wher...e,” Missandei struggled again.

“Shhhh....you’re fine. You’re going to be fine. You’re safe. You’re family is safe.”

“Lann...” she paused to breath releasing an uncomfortable groan in the place of saying what she meant.

Daenerys wasn’t phased by the incomplete sentences. “I have men looking for him and his sister. They aren’t important right now.” She feared her head on Missandei’s forehead, “You’re awake, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to care for you.”

Daenerys pressed her lips to Missandei’s cheek. Her lips her warm. She shifts towards the other woman Daenerys plants a feather like kiss on her lips. She feels warm all over. She can’t think of what this may or may not be mean, this warmth building up inside her. She doesn’t know what it means, but it’s pleasant when Daenerys cradles her. She can’t help the tears spilling out of her eyes. It’s Daenerys’ fault for being so warm after she spent an indeterminate time in the dark, in the cold. She blamed her tears on Arya too, bouncing their son back to sleep, the picture of the woman Missandei always knew she could be.

Arya and Ned don’t leave Missandei’s side. Daenerys is pulled away for her duties, she can’t stay as long as she’d like. She’s barely there during the day, but when she’s finished she joins Missandei and Arya and Ned at night. The large bed is where they hunker down to watch the show. 

Arya has adopted the role of storyteller and it’s a different version of Arya she’s never seen. She’s not haunted or withdrawn or angry or....lost. Arya comes alive as she reads to her favorite people huddled on the bed. Daenerys kisses Missandei a lot more now during her recovery while also finding reasons to reach for the Naathi.

Arya doesn’t tell her what happened when she was asleep. Daenerys only gives her an affectionate smile joining in with Arya in a seemingly silent agreement to leave the world’s worries outside of their chambers. She can’t even call it hers and Arya’s anymore since people have taken to seeking Daenerys out at their bedroom. The change is subtle like Daenerys’ cuddles that presumably started since Missandei was always cold since her attack.

It’s nice, this family that has come together by invisible strings that combined and created a stronger thread. It’s very nice, but there’s a small insecure part birthed from what Arya and Daenerys hasn’t said.

Asking Arya about it wouldn’t result in a clear answer, just a non-answer.

To expedite her recovery the translator and Arya had taken to is close by with a blanket wrapped around her to cradle the baby as they took brief strolls for recovery. 

On one such stroll Missandei used the wall to hold herself up as she caught her breath. 

Arya grabbed her hand. The other one automatically came up to cradle Ned even though he was secured around her body with little risk of falling. 

“Here,” Arya guided Missandei to a window overlooking the castle gardens. “You look tired. Did we do too much today?”

Missandei shook her bed if only to alleviate the worry in Arya’s voice. “I just wanted to enjoy the view.” She gestures toward the garden beneath them. 

Arya looks over the woman’s shoulder sending Missandei a sardonic grin. “I do enjoy the view.”

Missandei blinked slowly, “I never knew you were partial to admiring flowers.”

“I see no value in flowers,” Arya admitted. “They aren’t what I find beautiful in this moment.”

“Just this moment?” She’s tired, but there was a teasing glint in her eyes. “No other moment?” Missandei prods the lightness on her tone is unmistakable.

Arya’s delivery isn’t as smooth as she’d like with. The look Missandei gave her was so playful and earnest she thought of all the times she might not have had the chance. 

She swallowed.

“Arya,” Missandei placed a hand on the smaller woman’s lap. “What’s wrong?”

Missandei is patient. She doesn’t know sgt to make of Arya’s defeated shoulder or her cloudy eyes. She thinks it might have something to do with killing again and she’s surprised when Arya finally says. “I almost lost you. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“I do. You would raise Ned. You would love him for the both of us.”

Arya disagreed. She told her about avoiding Missandei when she was hurt. She told her about how the everything else but her anger was unbearable. She couldn’t feel it and function. 

“I felt like I was in the dark,” Arya whispered admitting something she only just realized.

“And Daenerys?” Missandei’s sounded too cold.

“What about her?”

“She was there for you, was she not?” Arya studied the other woman as she left Missandei’s question unanswered. “Daenerys shines brighter than most, I’m sure while you were in the dark you found your way to her.”

“You’re tired,” Arya said. 

They sat in silence until it was time for Ned to eat. Arya escorted Missandei to their bed. She lay Ned down with her as well before she excused herself to retrieve the nurse. She should have been there by now.

*  
Missandei doesn’t believe in ghosts. She believes in cruel and unjust people catering to their selfish whims. She understood people, often weaker and with little to no influence, paid the price for that. She’d heard stories of haunted places. She’s seen bodies rise from the dead, but still she didn’t believe in ghosts.

Despite that belief, she thought ‘ghost’ the first thing that came to mind when she saw Cersei Lannister sitting at the edge of her bed with Ned latched to her boob.

That’s the only explanation she accepts especially after the burned bodies of Cersei and Jaime Lannister were submitted to the court. Missandei heard from gossiping maids that Tyrion identified the bodies himself. It had been a weight from her shoulders to hear it until the visits from Cersei started.

The ghost seemed to come and go as she pleased. Missandei had hoped to be fully recovered and less dependent on Arya. The ghost told her things. It shared supposed secrets with her. And as much as Missandei would have liked confront Arya she always felt too tired, too scared.

“Go away,” she whispered at the ghost once again cradling Ned. “Give me my son.”

Cersei’s eyes widened as if she’d said something surprising. “This child belongs to Daenerys Targaryen and Arya Stark. Haven’t you heard?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the kudos, the comments, and your patience.


End file.
